Hopelessly Ever After
by arabellaesque
Summary: What is there in life when there is no hope? The tale of one enchanter and one aspiring martial warrior as the paths of their respective fates entwine themselves for an eternity
1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:** This story was inspired by and is based on the Xan NPC Mod (one of the romance paths) from the wonderfully talented Kulyok and companions, and written with her kind permission. Updates may be sporadic ;)

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It had been weeks, if not months, since he'd felt anything even remotely bordering hope. The darkness was suffocating, the air seemed to stale a little bit more each day. His arms and legs had ceased cramping, probably because they'd been permanently damaged by the rope that bound them. The gag in his mouth was removed infrequently, when he was forced to drink and consume some rations; he didn't dare to think what was in them, and he was unable to make himself sick afterwards for fear of choking on his vomit while his mouth was obstructed -- though dying might not be a bad thing…

His mind drifted back to thoughts of trees and gardens, sunlight with the breezy air drifting past carrying the scents of a hundred different types of flower. The faint sound of someone singing softly, their lilting accent easily wandering amongst a variety of notes. The mountains rising above the verdant green valley, providing safety and security… the wooded terraces where one could sit and waste an entire day just drinking in the sights that surrounded you, the constant bubbling of brooks and ponds soothing your mind until you achieved a sense of inner peace. The magnificent buildings, with their spires and balconies, the clean roads that ran through the city. _Home_…

He shook himself from the conscious reverie, unwilling to put himself through any more pain than he was already facing. It was lost to him, hopeless… memories would not save him from the fate that lay in store. All he could pray for was a swift death to end the lingering decay of his mind and soul as he wasted away, a prisoner of the half-orc fiend he'd been sent to investigate. But even that seemed unlikely; his captor delighted in torturing him, then using the powers granted to him by his dark god to heal over the worst of the wounds, leaving him to rest fitfully until it began again the next day. For years he'd feared death, if only because he knew what would happen to his soul when his time came -- but now, even being trapped within his moonblade seemed like a lesser fate.

It had, of course, been taken from him, leading to his immediate weakening. Had the priest not been casting healing and curative spells on him daily anyway, he would likely have died from the separation -- he was unsure why it hadn't claimed him anyway, and could only conclude that the weapon was being stored close enough to provide enough energy to sustain his further living. It figured, after all -- when did anything ever go right?

He would have closed his eyes were they not shut tight already -- a desperate attempt to ignore the world and his situation, but futile in the extreme. He would have sighed, but the gag in his mouth was wedged in tightly, and had begun to chafe at the corners, leaving sores that wept whenever it was removed. He would have given up hope, had he had any in the first place.

When he heard the noise of voices, he ignored them. When the discussion rose into shouting, he stirred slightly, but told himself to ignore it. When he heard the sound of steel upon steel, the cries of battle and the shrieks from injury, he opened his eyes. He was unsure what to think -- to have hope would only lead to disappointment when the newcomers were helplessly slaughtered by the kobolds and undead at the half-orc's command, but in all the time he'd been trussed up here, no one else had came.

Silence fell abruptly and he strained to listen for any noise, any sign of survival. He snorted slightly; it would be just his luck that they'd all managed to kill each other, leaving him as the sole survivor. Death would take him through either starvation or disease, whichever hit him first, and the pain would be excruciatingly slow. It was hopeless; he closed his eyes once more.

He ignored the noise of movement -- it was so quiet and restrained that it had to be the priest, no doubt rifling through the corpses of his attackers. His torture would prevail -- he'd even been cheated out of the awful death he'd dreamt about only seconds before. He frowned slightly when he heard some low voices; surely not… it couldn't possibly be. His eyes instinctively closed tighter, he shook everything from his head. He was going insane -- he was developing a fantasy that rescuers had arrived, friendly faces who would help him escape the hellish prison he was held captive in. People who had slain the priest that bound him and tormented him… but it could not be. It was impossible.

He flinched when he felt the soft touch of a warm hand on his face; his delusions were becoming wild, and he was too frightened to open his eyes, too terrified to see what was really standing before him -- nothing but the unending darkness of the cavern. Then a voice -- light but quiet, concerned but commanding. Female. His captor had not been female.

One eye opened slowly, protesting at the torchlight surrounding him. He squinted, trying to focus on the kneeling figure -- robed and cloaked, various shades of blue and green. A silver chain hung round the neck, and the face was turned away from him, over her shoulder as she conversed with someone else. Someone behind her. He was unable to listen to what was being said, his mind swirling with the inability to believe any of this was real.

Yellow hair… long yellow hair, falling haphazardly from the head. Her hand wasn't far from his face, resting lightly on his chest while she spoke. The skin was tanned; a light brown colour that seemed to shine with health and spoke of too many hours spent playing around in the sun. The nails were short and neat, slender fingers were bound together by a strip of bronze. Her voice stopped, and he looked up in time to see her turn back to face him. She smiled as she noticed his awareness of her, deep green eyes creasing as the happy expression covered her entire face.

"You are awake," she said softly. "Come -- let us see to your bonds and injuries."


	2. The Group

**Author's Note: **Anyhone unfamiliar with the progress of the BG1, 2 and ToB games may want to avoid this story -- the plot of the game is very much a secondary factor to this; the relationships between characters (especially Xan and Nuila, obviously) is more important.

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_It's a new dawn_

_It's a new day_

_It's a new life_

_For me_

_-- Nina Simone, Feelin Good_

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Xan stared at his pale hands, clasped tightly together as they rested upon the table. The Nashkel Inn was warm and a welcome sight, even for him, but he felt uneasy and pensive. His rescuers had marched swiftly to get back here before nightfall, two aiding him when he stumbled -- nay, insisting on aiding him, despite his objections. Two half-elves, strong and noble; well, as noble as half-bloods could be. He didn't have anything against half-elves, really, but to know that the already dying line of Tel-Quessir was being diluted with the breeding with other… dare he say, lesser races… Well, it was enough to make him want to lie down and die. His foolish kin, who didn't realise the time of their people was on the wane, cared not for his sentiments. They told him that the half-elves had much to offer the future of the elven race and he would snort and roll his eyes. They could not, and would not, ever be like the full-blooded elves.

One of them, the woman, Jaheira, had tended his wounds with prayers to Silvanus. That, combined with the return of his moonblade, had given him enough strength to carry himself along, only requiring support when the terrain was uneven or the hillside was steep. The man -- her husband, Khalid, he'd gathered -- had darted off at the first sign of hostility, swinging two blades around with frightening accuracy while the others provided back up. Jaheira had given Xan a sling and some bullets, insisting he at least try to use it, and he'd been forced to accept it with a sigh.

The third member of the group -- a young, pink-haired human girl -- seemed to be a fair shot with her bow. She was also annoyingly happy and cheerful, bounding around as they went, whether underground, over ground, or rapidly approaching yet another enemy. She was the only one to try and coax him into conversation: _Where are you from? Are you a mage? That's a pretty blade! Can you use it properly?_ He'd snorted and grunted at her enough that she eventually got bored, skipping back towards their leader, her light and excitable voice carrying over to him easily, making him wonder why they weren't drawing even more attention. He'd heard the yellow-haired girl refer to her as Imoen, and they'd called each other sister. He'd sighed inwardly -- one such irritable youth was more than enough to have to deal with, and if they were related…

It was only a few miles later that he realised the term was more one of endearment that any true heritage. The leader had introduced herself in the mines, but he'd failed to catch her quiet tone and failed to see a reason why he should bother learning it anyway, when their acquaintance would be fairly short. But Imoen had leapt past them, just as they emerged from under the final canopy of the forest, into the open lands once more, calling to her -- _Nuila! Nuila, lookit this!_ What the pink-haired girl was so excited about, he had no idea; so caught up as he was with the newly discovered identity of his rescuer.

Nuila. An elvish name, filled with the thoughts of hope -- how ironic that he, of all people, would be discovered by her. His curiosity peaked, he glanced carefully over to her, letting his eyes settle on her form for longer than before while her attention was taken by her friend. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before -- her soft touch, the slender form, the shining hair and eyes. She pushed back some strands to reveal the proof positive; delicately pointed ears betraying her elven heritage. Why hadn't he seen it before?

Then he realised with a start -- he'd assumed she was human because she _acted_ so human. Her footsteps were heavy, her gait was careful but inelegant. She laughed loudly with Imoen, joked with Khalid, and tried her best to look abashed when Jaheira sternly reminded her about the dangers they faced. She had no air of pride in what she was, the blood she carried. Her robes flowed around her as she walked, her cloak drifting out with the breeze -- her form was hidden behind the looseness of them, pieces of rag that hung from her shoulders limply. No style, no grace -- no finery. He sighed at the sight.

Then they'd arrived at the inn, and he'd been seen to the table, a goblet of wine pushed over to him by the pink-haired one before his rescuers all disappeared to see to their own business. The half-elves, he'd managed to determine, had gone to visit the mayor to report on the outcome of their trip to the mine. Imoen had grinned in a very unsettling manner and declared to Nuila in a rough whisper that she was off to liberate the arrows from the store next door, ignoring the yellow-haired girl's protests. The elf had watched her go with a sigh, then wandered over to the counter to talk to the barman, disappearing through to the rooms with him shortly after.

And so he was on his own -- unsure as to what happened with them now. They'd freed him, and he was thankful, but he had his own duties to see to. A Greycloak of Evereska, his main concern was the iron shortage in these lands, which he had set off from his home to investigate. He'd stumbled and fallen when it came to exploring the mine by himself, but his work needed to continue. He was sure they'd part on good enough terms; they appeared to be fairly trustworthy, and he was positive they'd feel a sense of relief when he spoke of his intention to part ways.

But they _had_ saved him. He sighed inwardly, the familiar feeling of honour and responsibility popping up, wrestling with each other. He couldn't just take his leave unless they wished it -- no, he'd have to talk to their leader and gauge her intentions, first. If all went well, she'd politely wish him well on his journey, and by the morning he'd be on his way again. Where to, he wasn't sure, but he'd be going there, nevertheless.

The door of the tavern slammed shut behind him and he cautiously looked around, noticing a woman enter, a frown on her face as she gripped her shield tightly to her, a spiked mace in the other hand. He turned back to his wine and contemplated on taking a sip from it. He was almost certain it wasn't poisoned, but could he really be sure?

Another sigh and he looked up, finally taking in his surroundings as the mass of thoughts going through his head quelled slightly. The inn was fairly small, but the town itself wasn't large, and since there was another establishment south of the river, Xan figured that there was probably usually plenty of room for the locals.

Usually, anyway, when Nashkel wasn't filled with Flaming Fist mercenaries who lined the bar, talking rowdily and lewdly whenever the serving girl wandered past. She was, for human standards, what they'd class as 'pretty', he thought. Slightly plump, with a round, jolly face and red cheeks. Brown hair had been pulled back into practical twist, and her white, laced blouse was almost completely covered by her plain red apron. Despite this though, she was drawing attention whenever she appeared, taking it all good-naturedly, her quick tongue bettering the men quite often, much to their obvious delight.

Elsewhere, locals sat in groups around the tables dotted around. He was, he noted dourly, the only person to be on their own, with the exception of the most recent patron -- the woman was waiting, impatiently it seemed, at the bar for some service. Farmers were discussing the weather in one corner; an older man with sand-coloured hair and bushy beard was loudly informing his peers on what would happen if they didn't get a good downpour soon. Xan was almost tempted to point them in the direction of the druid when she returned, but quickly decided against it, in order to prolong his further existence.

A small platform -- tiny by the standards of the inns in the cities -- in the corner of the common room had two small wooden stools atop it, currently being used by two young girls. Both were 'singing' along as the red-head also played a lyre. Their gazes were directed, dreamily, to the soldiers at the bar, who were failing to pay them any attention at all. Xan shook his head slightly; when would these humans learn?

The door closed once again, and instinctively he glanced around. The half-elves and Imoen had all returned, the pink-haired girl frowning heavily as the druid's hand gripped onto her ear with an iron grip. They began to make their way over to him, he noted with disappointment, and he averted his eyes to notice that Nuila was also emerging from the backrooms, accepting a key from the innkeeper and smiling happily as she also head in his direction. Suddenly he felt smothered, and his eyes fixed themselves once more to his clasped hands.

"Did you know what she was trying to do?" Jaheira was technically asking a question, but her tone demanded an answer. Nuila sighed softly.

"I--"

"I would have expected you both to have a bit more sense," continued the half-elf hotly. "We have just found ourselves in good favour with the town; are you so intent on destroying that _already?_" This one was directed at Imoen.

"No," replied the pink-haired human meekly. "I'm sorry."

Jaheira looked over to her husband and sighed in exasperation. "You deal with them. I shall arrange for some food to be sent over to us."

She walked away as Khalid turned to the two young girls, his face much softer than his wife's had been. "N-now, you b-both know she only gets upset when she's d-disappointed--"

"Or angry," interrupted a muttering Imoen. Khalid's eyes twinkled slightly.

"O-or angry," he agreed," b-ut it's because she c-cares for you both."

"We know," said Nuila gently. "We appreciate it, don't we, Im?" She nudged Imoen viciously, causing the girl to yelp and rub at her side. "We'll try not to do anything else to annoy her."

"You're b-both young and excited," noted Khalid, sitting down beside Xan. The enchanter found himself shifting almost subconsciously. "T-time will help you t-to settle down."

The girls also took seats, smiling and chatting to the warrior; they seemed to see him as a fatherly figure of sorts. By the time Jaheira had returned all disagreements were forgotten about, and she too entered the conversation with ease and a hint of teasing in her remarks. Xan found himself feeling more and more out of place, and he didn't realise they were addressing him until Imoen poked him in the arm. He raised an eyebrow.

"Nuila was asking what you plan to do now," declared the girl loudly. Xan froze; partly in surprise at having to face the question so suddenly, and partly because he noticed the woman with the spiked mace suddenly spin around to look at them, ignoring the barkeeper as he continued to speak.

"Well?" asked Imoen insistently, as he watched the woman walk towards them. It seemed to be in slow motion -- her eyes had become fixed on Nuila and the knuckles on her hand had turned white as she fiercely held onto her weapon, raising it slowly into battle stance. He swallowed hard, his mouth felt excruciatingly dry -- maybe they had poisoned him. Or maybe he just hadn't been drinking enough to combat the warm effects of the fire…

"Nuila, eh?" came the woman's voice as she loomed over their table. The companions looked up to her with puzzlement. "How convenient that you should be in the very place I decided to rest at."

The next thing Xan noticed as he leapt back, stumbling from his chair, was the speed with which the woman corrected herself after the swing of her mace connected with nothing but thin air. He looked around, his eyes searching for the elf, and saw her standing a little away, crouched somewhat and tensed, preparing for more conflict. The half-elves had pulled free blades and clubs, clambering over chairs as they tried to catch the woman before she caused any injuries. The guards at the bar had been alerted by the sudden commotion, and they too were preparing weapons: _Someone's 'avin' a go at the 'eroes that saved the mine!_ The farmers were shouting for the soldiers to do something, the woman was muttering sinisterly as she advanced on the elf.

Nuila just stood there.

An arrow flew across the room, hitting the woman squarely in the neck. She gave a gargled cry as she reached up to wrench it out, her mumblings disrupted. Xan watched, mouth slightly agape, as Nuila moved forward with a speed that astounded him. Her hand caught the woman's arm, forcing it away from her neck, wrenching it round behind her back, causing the attacker to cry out in pain. Nuila's other arm grabbed the woman's head, forcing it down until the woman was on her knees, immobilised by the strength of the seemingly small elf.

It wasn't long before she was led off by the mercenaries, the singing girls leaving shortly after with much sighing. The common room became quieter and the group settled back down at their table, though Xan watched them cautiously for several minutes until he felt he could relax again. The druid had found something in the woman's pack and asked to keep it when the Flaming Fist came to collect her possessions. After a quick glance at it, they nodded grimly and took their leave. Now both she and her husband were staring intently at the elf.

"This is not the first one?" Jaheira sounded surprised -- worse than that, she sounded surprised when she obviously felt _nothing_ should surprise her any more.

Nuila did nothing but nod meekly.

"Tell us, child," the druid said, drumming her fingers on the table. "Tell us _everything_."

"Well," sighed Nuila. "First things first." She placed a key on the table and slid it over to Xan -- he looked at it suspiciously. "A room for you for the evening while you decide what you're going to do. As for everything else… this might take some time."


	3. Breaking Ice

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all the people who have reviewed and read -- I'm glad to see such interest in this tale! As I said before, it's inspired by the Xan romance mod that's gettable from pocketplane dot net, but it'll have my own little twists onto it to give it a bit of flavour and adaptability for Nuila's character.

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_We can keep on talking,_

_You know I've got all night_

_But don't keep telling me,_

_That everything's all right..._

_It's not all right._

_-- Great Big Sea, Something I Should Know_

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The others had gone to bed. The half-elves first, the woman suddenly appearing weary after hearing the full story of the day or so between the younger girls losing their guardian and finding his friends. The pink-haired girl interjected often, adding to Nuila's calm description of everything; she used the same tone, the same level of voice to describe being attacked by assassins and finding her father's body as she did to depict the view of the forest as they wandered through; the _cute_ looking wolf that had leapt at her throat, and only been felled by Imoen's arrows and the magic of some other men they'd walked with before they arrived at the Friendly Arms Inn. Jaheira had set her mouth firmly when Nuila recounted meeting them and Xan had watched Khalid's hand snake over to the druid's, squeezing it gently to soothe his wife's nerves.

Not much had been said by either of the married pair before they retired, but the enchanter put it down to shock. He almost felt sorry in advance for Nuila and Imoen -- he could imagine the questions they'd have to face tomorrow when the hawk-like woman had formulated them in her mind.

Pink-hair had slunk off shortly after, seemingly bored by the lack of activity in the inn now that the mercenaries had all left, and the only men scattered around were much older farmers. Nuila, however, was still sitting across from him at the table, smiling brightly. It was... unnerving, he decided, but he wasn't sure why; he was far too busy avoiding eye contact.

"So, how are you?"

Internally he groaned. He'd almost allowed himself to hope that she'd follow the lead of her companions -- retire to bed, allow him to go to his room unhindered, without drawing attention to himself, allowing him to reverie and leave early in the morning. Perhaps leave a thank you note for them, behind the bar. Except, he wouldn't, would he? He would feel obliged to offer his services in return for his rescue, and Seldarine knows what he might end up involved in...

"It was a relief to gaze upon the unbounded infinity of the sky once more," he offered, clearing his throat slightly. "Even this tavern is much better than the frowning walls of my filthy cave. I can never repay you for allowing me to escape." Perhaps that would be enough; perhaps she would agree, let him go away on his own without holding him to some form of servitude.

"You are welcome." Her smile was still there, dazzling him more than the bright flames dancing in the hearth. He found himself entranced by two swirling green orbs as her words continued -- only the tiniest lilt in her accent betraying her bloodline. "I am glad you're feeling better after everything you have gone through."

"I am afraid I shall never be able put this experience away for good," he sighed. "Any sort of torture would pale before those bleak, empty weeks I had to endure. Not a single scrap of daylight, not a breath of a living wind; such an existence was worse than death. More than once, I wished to break my head against the wall. If not for your timely arrival, I would be dead already."

She was nodding at him. "Couldn't you get out by yourself?"

He shifted slightly. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, but he wasn't sure why. Instead he reminded himself of the misery-filled weeks of captivity and focused his eyes on a particularly large knot on the wooden tabletop. "Bound and weakened by starvation and torture? I am afraid my powers do not stretch that far." Ah, that was good. Now, perhaps, she would no longer see him as a valuable potential asset to her group.

"Then at least you will be able to recover now, and a night of rest will do you the world of good."

He sighed. How noble she was, to put his feelings first without even knowing him. He fought the urge, but it was almost like second nature. The words came before he could even register their forming. "I would like to offer my services, however pitiable they may be, to your cause as repayment for your aid, if you would allow me to travel with you for a short time."

A silence fell. Being a mage, he was well versed in the spells and incantations that were used in the realms -- especially the more potent ones; ones he'd still take years to harness the power of. Some wizards could stop time for a few seconds -- vital, on occasion, to preserve their continued breathing, but he'd only ever read about the ability. It felt as if it had been cast at that second as the world seemed to stop around him, and his eyes lifted from the carpentry of the inn's furniture to meet the slightly surprised eyes of a rather young elven woman.

"We would welcome your presence," she replied, after what seemed like an eternity. The world sped back up to normal, and the sound of his rushing blood faded from his hearing. He felt relieved and terrified, so he did what he could to try and make himself feel better. He sighed deeply.

She cocked an eyebrow quizzically and he mentally prepared himself for more conversation, but nothing came. Instead her attention drifted to the nearby window, gazing out to the night sky as her hands absently traced patterns in the side of her mug. Her brass dusters lay at the side of the table, and he shuddered just looking at them -- they appeared quite vicious now that he was able to focus on them close up. The glistened gently in the light, the brass obviously well cared for and polished regularly. Each ring appeared to be perfectly round, with three tiny spikes rising from the top to add to the impact they'd already strengthen. A looping letter 'N' adorned each of the pair and he wondered if they'd been custom made -- certainly they were a rare sight for the average adventurer, further fuelling the mysteriousness of his newfound companions.

"They were given to me by my foster father," she said quietly, making him start at the sudden noise of her voice. He tried to compose himself, ignoring her amused expression as she continued. "He'd tried, for years, to get me to settle on a profession, but I never had the interest or the inclination. Then, one day, he found me in the gardens and asked me what I was doing."

He nodded absent-mindedly, his eyes drifting back to the potentially lethal rings. The impact they could have if used with force... force he'd witnessed her displaying on her would-be attacker... he let out an involuntary shudder, but was relieved to see that she appeared not to notice; her own eyes were on the items, and a wistful expression was on her face.

"You said earlier your foster-father's name was Gorion," he said eventually. He managed to keep his voice soft, knowing he was treading dangerously close to bad memories that were still fresh in the mind. She nodded to him, a small crease appearing on her forehead as a pained expression formed. He swallowed hard. "My condolences." His words sounded so forced -- but he had to continue. "I have heard the name: he was a powerful human mage, and a friend of Harpers who are always welcome in Evereska. I know how hollow the words may sound; alas, I can do no more. You have saved my life, and I shall do my best to protect yours if the occasion arises. And I foresee it will be soon, for the number of our enemies does not decrease if events earlier are anything to go by."

"Thank you." She smiled weakly, her hands moving from her cup to take each other, her fingers entwining with themselves as the fabric of her robe hung limply around her wrists. "It has been hard for us -- Imoen and I, that is. We lived for so long in Candlekeep, and it was so sheltered... this is a very new and different world for us."

"Candlekeep?" He couldn't stop himself from frowning. "Are you sure? Ah, but of course you are. I do not doubt your words, but the library fortress is strictly regulated, and carefully guarded. I assume it was Gorion's influence that coaxed the monks into allowing you to spend childhood there."

"He persuaded Ulraunt, the Keeper of Tomes, to allow us to stay, yes," she said quietly. "But he would not let me return now, not without Gorion. He never wanted me there in the first place, or Imoen, I don't think. But it didn't matter... and it matters less now, I suppose." She looked so down-heartened that he wanted to reach out and offer her some comfort, some extension of his pity at her plight. Instead he sat uncomfortably as she sniffed loudly and rummaged in her pocket for a tissue.

"Gorion must have wielded a magnificent influence to allow you to spend your childhood in such a place," he said weakly, almost desperately. The silence was almost deafening, and at least when she was talking there was a little light in her eyes, a small sign of life and vigour. When she stopped and fell into her thoughts, it seemed to be extinguished.

"Or I must have been a charming child," she chuckled, finally managing to wrestle a handkerchief free and using it to carefully dab at her nose. He imagined the druid having told her to mind her manners, and to refrain from blowing her nose until she was alone. Although Jaheira had no airs of a lady, she seemed to be firm with both of the younger girls when it came to social pleasantries, and over the course of the night, he'd spied both of them stopping themselves at the last minute when they felt the urge to belch; some habits were obviously dying hard.

He was shaken back to the present moment by his subconscious, ironically. Her eyes had found his, and he heard himself mumbling, "Oh, I do not doubt that. You are still... charming." Horrified, he drew himself back, sitting up abruptly and coughing slightly to cover the flush that was threatening to spread to his cheeks. "So, ahem. You fight with... those?"

She was grinning at him. He briefly debated returning her mischievous look with a scowl, but her eyes darted back to her dusters and she nodded. "I think Gorion assumed I'd become a cleric or a priest or some such," she said thoughtfully, her voice almost becoming hazy as she lapsed back into her memories. He was content to listen, allowing himself to relax once more as he drifted off to the sound of her voice in her easy company. "He knew I prayed regularly -- all the time I was with him, certainly, and as for before I lived with him... I can't remember any of that."

Xan raised an eyebrow slightly. "How long did you live with him? He was old, but surely you would be older yourself, considering your race?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I was with him for a while... Imoen came to stay when she was ten, or so, and so that was about eleven years ago. I was with him for maybe... five years before that? I can't remember anything before Candlekeep."

"And he told you nothing about it?"

She shook her head sadly. "Not a lot, no. Only that he knew my mother, and she died in childbirth."

"But surely she would have been with other elves? Why would he take you from that and force you to grow up in surroundings that were so... human?"

She looked at him in bemusement. He wasn't sure what she was thinking; she was neither smiling nor frowning, only puzzled. "I don't know," she replied simply. "I think he wanted to offer me the best future I could have, and so he did."

He nodded. "It still seems strange," he remarked, more to himself. She didn't seem to hear him.

"He would summon me to his study most days," she recalled, drifting back to the original question, "and ask me what I _enjoyed. _I'd stare at him blankly and say things like 'food'. He'd sigh, and threaten to send me to train with the cook, knowing that the boredom would eventually overwhelm me, I think."

"And so he guided you to a path of violence?" He knew he sounded incredulous, but he couldn't help it. So naive -- humans were so impossibly unsophisticated at times. To his horror, she shook her head.

"Oh no. I decided this path for myself -- well, not quite the fighting part, though it's fun I guess."

"_Fun?_" He almost choked the word, but she just shrugged absent-mindedly and continued.

"He'd tried to encourage me to sing and dance -- well, he tried to encourage me once, and then agreed that it maybe wasn't right for me." Xan flinched inwardly -- she was an elf and she _couldn't sing or dance_?

"The Priest of Oghma was aghast that I worshipped Tymora," she continued, "and so I didn't get the best assistance in learning how to serve as a cleric. So that didn't last long either. I was allowed a sword of my own for one afternoon, until I managed to kill one of the chickens by mistake when I swung it around experimentally. It wasn't actually the death of the chicken that forced them to take it away from me, though, apparently."

"What was it?" he asked weakly. _She follows Tymora… Lady Luck. Hopeless._

"Oh, Dreppin shouted a warning to me when he noticed what'd happened, and I turned round really quickly to see where he was. The sword sort of spun around in a really wide arc and clanged off Reevor's helmet as he laughed at the fate of the foul. Shortly after that, Jondalar took it away from me and said that my skills probably lay elsewhere." She sighed.

Xan found himself staring at her intently, almost with a vague sensation of fear.

"So, Gorion asked what I thought of magic. I said it looked pretty, and he sighed -- I think that might have been the wrong answer, but he seemed to be pretty desperate for me to find some sort of career, so he dug out a spellbook from somewhere and tried to show me how to scribe spells."

His mouth felt dry. "Did you manage any?" he croaked.

She shook her head. "All but one failed, and the one that I managed to finish was... well, I got it wrong somewhere. Instead of lighting the candle when I pointed at it, I managed to turn it into a potato."

He felt a smile curling his lips. She grinned back to him and continued.

"Next, we went for walks outside Candlekeep," she said, seeming to warm to the conversation more and more. "He taught me about bushes and trees and the creatures that lived there, but none of it really seemed to stick with me. I liked being in the forests, though..." her voice lowered, the yearning tone returning, "but I couldn't even fire a single arrow from a bow and I didn't want to be very close to any of the creatures around me."

"It sounds like he certainly had a task ahead of him," he murmured. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned toothily to him.

"I'd realised that I liked the peace and quiet, even though Candlekeep was pretty quiet anyway. Mornings were best -- everyone would be asleep, and the dew would settle on the grass, glistening prettily as the sun rose. I'd go outside in just my robe -- it didn't matter how cold it was because I'd not feel it -- and I'd close my eyes, facing up to the sky with my arms outstretched. I'd become so... _peaceful_. I did it for weeks before anyone noticed."

"Gorion?"

Nuila laughed and shook her head. "Imoen. The stupid girl had heard me sneaking out and followed me, hiding behind a bush until she thought I wasn't paying attention. I didn't know she was there, but I heard her coming, and instinctively I reached out and punched her on the jaw before I'd even opened my eyes. Needless to say, we were both a bit shocked. Gorion was too -- he'd witnessed it all from his window, we found out later. That afternoon he organised lessons in proper meditation, scribing and languages from the other monks, and persuaded Jondalar to give me some fighting tips for unarmed combat."

"And so you found your path," he remarked, suddenly seeing her for the first time; Nuila the Monk; honed and trained, calm and capable. Her frail looking form held many surprises it seemed.

"And so I did," she agreed, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Gorion supported me every step of the way -- he even supported Imoen and her thievery by turning a blind eye to it and hoping she'd grow out of it."

"You miss him."

"Of course." Her eyes met his again.

"Why did you leave the safety of the fortress?"

"I... I don't know." Her voice was small. "We flew from its walls one day at his insistence, his intention to meet with Jaheira and Khalid. He... he was killed on the road, and Imoen found me later on -- she had sneaked away herself, hoping to follow us. She always liked the idea of adventure."

He sighed. "Her self-delusion leads her nowhere. She may keep imagining herself as a hero, a legend in the making, but eventually she will come to ashes and dust. Every adventurer is doomed, and doubly so if she is expecting to stay on the road until the end of her days. Do not make such a mistake."

Nuila shook her head. The final remnants of happiness faded from her face, and it took on a colder, harder expression. "I don't intend to. I will avenge my father and it will be over."

"It will not matter in the long run, anyway," he said. "Young or old, we shall die, and all our memories will turn to dust. The past is irrelevant, as the present soon will be." He stood from the table, forcing himself to move now, to leave her before he said too much -- but he had already spoken more than he intended, and it was too late to take it back. "Good night, Nuila."

She said nothing as he walked away, her gaze now fixed to the dying embers of the fire, her hands clenched together tightly as her thoughts filled with revenge and retribution. He didn't want to leave her like that, but he had nothing to offer her -- no words of support or friendship, nothing but the harsh reality of the futility of it all. They were all doomed; she would likely die on the road before she had even managed to find out who was responsible for her foster father's death, and he would be faced with burying their bodies in unmarked graves, to be forgotten about by all except the creatures burying in the ground.

That was assuming he survived, of course -- which, he had to admit, was rather unlikely.


	4. Westward

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the continued reviews! Any feedback is welcomed, especially regarding the mixing of mod material with anything of my own -- let me know if things seem to flow naturally, or if anything looks out of place. I have to admit that I don't even know who will be in the main group when things begin to settle down -- just because there are characters already there now, doesn't mean they'll be permanent fixtures yet, though I am a stickler for having a nicely formed party early on when I tend to play ;) So if there's anyone you'd like to see playing a minor supporting role, fell free to let me know by PM or whatever -- I'm open to suggestions on who you'd think would work well in this particular Bhaalspawn's party. Since it's not about the story, as such, and more about relationships, the more interesting the combination, the better ;)

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_Where is the moment when you need it the most_

_You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost _

_Tell me your blue skies fade to grey_

_Tell me your passion's gone away_

_And I don't need no carryin' on_

_-- Daniel Powter, Bad Day_

----------

Days had passed since his rescue from the Nashkel Mines, and they were... well, still in Nashkel. Nuila didn't seem to be overly eager to go _anywhere_, and no one was doing much to encourage her to move on and follow the clues they had to work with. Instead, she'd wandered off to the carnival, where they'd inadvertently rescued another -- a woman who had been trapped in stone -- after the druid threatened the halfling presenting her as a 'curiosity' with actions best left unheard by any of delicate constitution.

Xan wished he'd missed the general gist.

So now they numbered five -- the druid, her husband, the pink-haired one, Nuila and this... this barbarian woman with hair even blonder than his elven companion's. He'd been asking himself, almost constantly, what he was doing with this group, but only with the addition of this cleric, 'Branwen', did he actually begin to fear the consequences of his alliance. To say she was eager for battle would be like saying that his companions may well end up being doomed; a gross understatement. The addition, however, seemed to manage to spur Nuila on with her plans, being that the very man who had seemingly imprisoned Branwen in her prison of rock many months ago, was the exact person named in the correspondence they'd found in the mines.

"How very convenient," Jaheira had muttered. Xan hated to admit it, but he agreed with the sentiment, and with the war priestess' encouragement, plans were made to head north to Beregost the next day, where the man was staying in one of the inns.

He soon found out, however, than 'plans' and 'Nuila' didn't go together very well, as that evening, they sat in their usual chairs by the fire, Imoen and Nuila listening with wide eyes as Branwen described her life as a servant of Tempus. Jaheira and Khalid were listening too, though it appeared to be more through politeness than any genuine interest, and their eyes would dart to each other for knowing glances all too often. Xan idly scratched his arm, and sighed heavily. Branwen paused in her tale and regarded him, seemingly thoughtfully.

"Do you find my tales dull, mage?" she asked in her thick accent.

He raised his eyebrow slightly. "I am sure your stories are... captivating... to the right audience," he answered carefully. He could hear Imoen giggling, and a quick glance showed Nuila grinning mischievously. Branwen continued to stare at him for several moments, then barked a laugh, leant forward, and clapped him soundly on the back before standing up.

"It has been a long day," she announced, raising her almost empty tankard to her lips and draining it completely. "If the march tomorrow shall be long, I will need my rest."

Xan barely managed to contain his sigh of relief, but his hopes the party slowly dispersing were shattered when the door to the inn swung open wildly, making everyone present, including him, leap from their seats in surprise. He turned to see a tremendously large figure almost filling the doorway, the wind outside blowing the leaves around in an unsettling manner. Confidently, the stranger marched into the inn, though he did stop and turn, carefully closing the door behind him with remarkable gentleness, then gazed around at his surroundings. Xan's heart fell when the group became the subject of his gaze; a smile lighting up his scarred face, and a purposeful march towards them beginning.

"We should probably _all_ go to b-" he began, his words being drowned out before he could get to the point. He slumped back into his chair, defeated, as the others just stared at the massive man.

"Ah, Boo says you look like warriors who could help Minsc to rescue his witch!" he exclaimed, looking straight at Imoen. Imoen peered over to Nuila, causing the man to follow her gaze and turn slightly so he could address the elf.

"Ah, uhm," offered Nuila uncertainly. "Who is Minsc?"

The man frowned in puzzlement for a moment. "Why, I am Minsc, and Minsc is I," he nodded, thrusting his hand out towards her. Xan watched as she began to reach out herself to accept the offer of a handshake, only to look down at the last moment and scream. She leapt back as the half-elves instinctively reached towards their weapons.

"And this is Boo," continued the man, beaming a proud smile as Nuila's hands went up to her horrified mouth. "There is no need to shout in delight, he can tell you are greatly pleased to meet him. And you do not need to cover your face so -- Boo does not go for the eyes unless they belong to the butt of evil! Isn't that right Boo?"

A squeak came from somewhere -- Xan could only hope it was from the hamster. Nuila was looking worriedly at the female druid; Xan couldn't say he blamed her. It was hardly an everyday occurrence -- to be accosted by a madman and his pet rodent.

"Who is your witch, and where has she been taken?" asked Jaheira with a frown.

"And b-by who?" added Khalid. He was standing slightly behind both of the women, obviously seeking to protect them should this Minsc become a threat. Xan was quite amused by the thought in a morbid way -- he was tiny compared to the mountain of tattooed flesh that was seeking their aid, but the enchanter had no doubt he'd try his best to bring him down before he could hurt any of them -- especially his wife.

"It is shameful for me to admit it!" wailed Minsc, looking genuinely upset. "Glorious Dynaheir and I have been travelling on our dajemma from Rashemen for many months now, and Minsc and Boo have protected her for every step -- even after I suffered from my h-head wound in Cormyr."

"And she's been captured?" asked Imoen with concern. "That's terrible!"

Xan rolled his eyes slightly. How idealistic and naive of pink-hair.

"We were ambushed by gnolls to the west of the town," nodded Minsc furiously. "They were heading towards a large fortress building with many others of their kind when Minsc's world went black. Minsc and Boo swore to protect her, and we must go and rescue her -- though you would be welcome to accompany me on the glorious deed!"

Nuila looked over to the half-elves, who both nodded slightly, then to Branwen and Imoen. More nods. Xan looked away quickly before she could level that gaze at him, hoping to avoid her discrete conference.

"Xan?"

He closed his eyes and groaned softly, then reluctantly looked back to her. Her eyes were looking at him questioningly and he could feel Minsc's hopeful glare burning into him. Imoen was frowning slightly as her eyes found his form, and the half-elves were regarding him curiously.

"Well, mage -- is it not better to act than talk?" came Branwen's voice. Xan quickly dismissed the idea of lacing her next drink with silencing powder. It was quite valuable, after all.

Nuila's gaze still remained fixed to him, and everything else seemed to fade out of focus, as if they were the only two standing in a void of chaos. He forced this from his mind, allowed his shoulders to shrug in a non-committed manner, and felt himself relax when the green eyes moved away from him.

"We'll head towards the fortress in the morning," came Nuila's voice, much to his discomfort. "Xan has a spare bed in his room that you can use tonight, and we will head off at first light."

The mighty warrior expressed his delight loud enough for the whole town to hear, and Xan quietly slipped away to his room, hoping to enter reverie before his new companion joined him. Much though he'd complained to himself about the loitering around the town for the previous few days, he was beginning to realise that it hadn't been _all_ that bad -- certainly, it couldn't be any worse than what they were about to enter into.

----------

They walked mostly in silence for two days before Minsc pointed to the distance, drawing their attention to a building far on the horizon that was seemingly perched on the top of a mountain. _Wonderful_, Xan thought, _things only improve, I see._ He was thankful, however, that Branwen seemed to prefer conversing with the half-elves or the berserker, rather than with him, and the two young girls were nigh on inseparable, so neither of them interrupted his thoughts as they walked, or his studies as they rested.

He looked up to Nuila, expecting to see Imoen beside her, but the pink-haired one was pestering Branwen about something, and the yellow-haired elf was walking along on her own. She looked thoughtful; a small frown was creasing her brow, and her attention seemed to be absent from her surroundings. It was unlike her to be so off-guard, he realised -- though they had not travelled long together, the only times he could remember her being truly relaxed were in the confines of an inn.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself by her side, inwardly cringing when he saw her smiling to him from the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. "You look pensive." He sighed inwardly -- he'd never been very good at the subtle ways his peers had demonstrated when conversing easily with the other young elves. Quickly, he continued: "Though, of course, it is only natural in our current situation. Soon we will submit to overwhelming and violent numbers of our foes; in this case, we will have the joy of gnolls disembowelling us."

She chuckled slightly and he felt himself relaxing enough to steal a proper look over at her. Worry and concern still filled her eyes as they looked down at the ground she walked on.

"Do thoughts of Gorion weigh on you?" He managed to ask gently; gentler than he'd expected it to come. The question seemed to startle her, however, and she looked up to him abruptly with a surprised expression.

"I... "Her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted back to her surroundings. It was several moments before she continued, nodding slightly as she spoke. "I miss him, yes. I guess I have not yet grown accustomed to his death."

"Sooner or later, you will be," he replied with a sigh. "I have lost my share of fallen companions, as well. After the initial shock passes, emotions dull and curb. The pain will be there, but you will get used to it."

She was looking back at him. "Have you... have you seen many fall?"

He smiled wryly. "The life of a Greycloak is fraught with danger, it would seem. Too many have fallen, and every time I somehow survived, despite my companions being more accomplished and experienced."

"But you continue with your duties to avenge them," she said, her voice sounding thoughtful. "My father's murderer will pay for his crimes. I will see to it."

"What is the point, Nuila?" He shook his head sadly; her innocence, her human traits -- so much naivety and stupid notions. "You will not bring Gorion back to life by slaying another. Even if you manage to find and kill the man, which I doubt, will it bring you any satisfaction?"

She seemed to relent to his point. "Perhaps not." A small shrug of her shoulders -- they were ascending the first of the hills that rolled towards their destination, and with each step that they took the air seemed to grow colder around them. He found himself worrying subconsciously about her warmth levels -- ridiculous really, as he was clad in almost the exact same as she; though he had the elven good sense to care about how he looked, and to wear robes with style and finesse.

She sighed, shaking him from his wandering thoughts. "But I loved Gorion, and I cannot allow his murderer to go free."

Every bit of him wanted to shout at her, to tell her how folly it was to seek out such a risk -- a risk she didn't seem to understand, to realise the seriousness of. But her pained expression softened him, and he carefully reached out, touching her on the shoulder. "I understand your desire, but it is not a wise one," he said solemnly. "If your mysterious enemy killed a powerful mage so easily, he would find you an easy target."

"I have friends now, though," she pointed out. "Khalid and Jaheira are experienced in their travels, and Branwen seems to be a mighty warrior. Minsc is... well, he's certainly large -- did you see the way he wrestled with that bear yesterday?!"

Xan groaned slightly, remembering the scene vividly; a walk through the forest had quickly turned into encounter with an annoyed grizzly bear, and Jaheira's attempts to guide them away without further antagonising it were failing quickly when Minsc strode forward, a tuneful whistle flowing from his pursed lips. The bear stopped in its tracks to regard him, then turned around, slowly lumbering away. At that point, Xan had let out an almighty sneeze, causing everyone to jump, Minsc's whistling to cease, and the bear to remember its unhappiness. It had raced towards the Rashemeni warrior, and he'd thrown himself at it, rolling over and over with the beast writhing in his arms. Somehow the whistling had started up again, and they both stood back up -- the bear allowing him to give it an affectionate pat before it went on its way, allowing the companions to continue unscathed.

"It was... quite a demonstration," remarked Xan dryly. Nuila giggled to his side, and he brightened slightly -- another glance to her made his cheer short-lived, however, as the melancholy still hung over her. He sighed. "You are of different heritage to Gorion, so he was clearly your foster father, am I correct?" She nodded. "Your real parents might still be alive, then; do you know who they were?"

His attempt to bring some hope into her world was dashed as her features only darkened and her sorrow increased. "I never knew them," she said quietly. "As I said before... my mother died in childbirth." Xan winced and cursed himself for forgetting. "My father... well, Gorion never spoke of him."

He frowned slightly, puzzled by her complete mysteriousness. "You were educated in the way of humans, away from our lands, and you never knew your parents' name?" He couldn't hide the surprise from his voice, though his words were mainly meant for himself. He caught her curious gaze and shrugged apologetically for his words. "Indeed, this is a most unusual occurrence. If someone had told me this a year ago I would have found it difficult to believe, but you are standing in front of me; too real for a cruel, nonsensical joke. Why would he deny you the privilege to know your people?"

She was frowning at him now; words that appeared to be spoken against the man she knew as a father were obviously not welcomed by her, and he quickly wished he'd not spoken at all. "He was a well-known adventurer in his day, so he must have had powerful enemies. I think that was the reason we stayed within the fortress," she replied, somewhat coldly. Her words made him flinch with their dismissive tone.

"But if he loved you he would do everything for your sake," he reasoned. "Perhaps he was concerned about your own safety, not his."

She stopped walking at his words, her face losing its glare, the gaze from her eyes seeming to become gentler. He paused just ahead of her, looking back to watch as she mulled over his words. Slowly she began nodding, then a small look of concern appeared. "But why? What reason would he have to fear my safety?"

Xan threw up his hands in exasperation. "Nuila, you have had _how many_ assassins, brigands, evil-doers, passers-by and otherwise insignificant strangers make an attempt on your life?"

"You have a point," she relented, picking up her pace again and allowing him to continue by her side. He caught Imoen staring over at them with a wide grin, then the pink-haired girl darted over to the druid and pulled on her sleeve. The half-elf's gaze was quickly cast over to the two elves inquisitively. Xan offered a polite, if sardonic, wave of his hand, and both turned away quickly, their discussion continuing in whispers.

He sighed and drew his attention back to his companion. Silence had fallen around her again, but this time she was looking at him, almost as if she was hoping he'd talk more. Desperately he racked his brains for something to say. "Judging by your words, you have spent your youth in the atmosphere of utmost secrecy," he noted, summarising what he'd learnt so far for his own benefit. She helped him by nodding slightly. "That could only mean that a deadly peril threatened you, and whoever wanted your death would not stop until they saw your lifeless body. I fear you are doomed, Nuila, and everybody close to you is doomed, as well. I am certain your company will lead me to a shallow grave."

She continued staring at him, then let out an almighty snort and seemed to dissolve into giggles. He sighed -- he'd been perfectly serious, but she seemed content to take it as an attempt at humour, and soon she was wiping some tears from the corner of her eyes and applauding his wit. He smiled slightly, bowed politely, and manoeuvred himself away from her to walk alone again.

That hadn't been his desired effect, at all.


	5. Tension

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the suggestions to potential party members -- I have a pretty good idea who we're going to stumble across now, but views and thoughts are still very welcome, on any aspect:D

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_You left a lovestain on my heart_

_And you left a bloodstain on the ground_

_But blood comes off easily_

_-- José González, Remain_

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Xan sighed. He remembered the sight -- around him lay the bodies of many creatures, alive until the party descended on their fortress home to wipe their existence from the Realms. There had been gnolls mainly -- a few xvarts had infiltrated their ranks for some reason, but even their fast and vicious attacks had proved useless against the fighters as they cut their way through, the tall berserker at the front. Their weapons had made short work of their foes, but Nuila had not been standing around idly. Her way of killing was much more involved -- much more personal.

Xan had discovered a morbid fascination in watching her as she swiftly approached her target, deftly stepping to the side to avoid the blows aimed at her. She moved with a grace that was absent from her normal gait, ducking and weaving as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Her dusters would catch the sunlight, glinting violently as her hands pushed forward, striking and lashing out at her opponent, tearing at the skin when she managed to find an opening in the armour. Her feet would kick out, sometimes as part of a move for her to regain her balance, sometimes because there was no opening for her punches. She moved to a rhythm only she could hear, and he was mesmerised. But then her victim would fall, as bloodied as if she'd wielded a club in her hands, and he would be dragged back to the present -- the very violent, very gory present.

When they all fell, it had been Minsc's howls that echoed around them, bouncing off what little was left of the crumbling walls of the ruined higher reaches. The final body they discovered had not fallen to their hands, but to those they'd killed. The dark-skinned woman had suffered heavily at the hands of the gnolls, it seemed, and no words could console her former guard. He had left them shortly after -- they'd aided him with the burial of his witch, but Nuila had made no effort to persuade him to remain in their group, wishing him well on his future journeys as he walked into the forest alone. Jaheira had been incensed by the elven girl's alleged 'lack of care', lecturing her about loyalty and comradeship. Nuila had shrugged, insisting she didn't want to force anyone to remain in her company.

"People are free to come and go as they wish," she'd said simply, walking away.

There had been an uneasy silence all the way back to Nashkel, then a full blown row at the inn. The druid was unwilling to drop the subject, quizzing Nuila relentlessly about her intentions and her motivations for allowing a man so obviously broken to leave the safety of the group. Eventually the girl snapped, standing abruptly from the table and informing Jaheira, in no uncertain terms, that she was not a child, and did not have to answer to her any more or justify her decisions. She was, Nuila said, as free to leave the group as Minsc had been, and if she was not happy with her actions, then she was free to go.

The next morning the monk stood by her words, stonily marching from the tavern as he followed her, Imoen and Branwen by his side. Jaheira and Khalid followed too, but they'd only made it half way to Beregost before the half-elves gave in, drawing the two younger girls to the side and wishing them farewell. Xan didn't know where they were going to, or what other factors had caused such a sudden departure, but relations between the elf and the druid had become cold and unfriendly -- only Khalid and Imoen showed any sadness at the way events had transpired.

With a heavy heart, Xan marched on with his group. They were now severely weakened and heading to a battle that sounded dangerous. He knew he should make his excuses and leave, but he couldn't -- he'd promised to stay, and even if he hadn't, they were investigating the very matter his Greycloak duties would have him following. He was doomed to stay with them.

They stopped to camp a few hours from the town, and Nuila declared that he would take the first watch with her. He groaned slightly, but she paid little attention, sitting beside Imoen as the young girl stirred the pot that was balanced on the campfire. Branwen soon joined them, their chatter light but quiet, free of the tension that had been apparent in the group after Minsc's departure. Xan withdrew from them as much as he could, opening his spellbook and pouring over it; only speaking to accept a plate of stew from Imoen when she handed it over to him. Soon enough the thief and the priestess were asleep, leaving Nuila alone by the fire as she stared into the flames, seemingly lost to the world around her. He frowned slightly, then rose from his own seat to move closer. She smiled as he settled down to her side.

"You have been very quiet today," she noted, holding her hands out to the flames. He wondered if she was really that cold -- the night air was chilly, and although they were sheltered in their location from the worst of the breezes, there seemed to be a draught constantly passing over them.

"No more than usual," he replied absent-mindedly, wondering if he should offer her his cloak. He decided not to -- she already had her own, after all, and the fire was providing ample heat. Well, it was for him -- but he seemed to be... well, bonier than her. She wasn't particularly large, but her muscles were honed, and she was stockier than any other elf he'd seen. She probably had more to warm up.

"I saw you frowning when Jaheira and Khalid left," she said quietly. "You might think it was a bad idea, but-"

"No." He interrupted quickly, suddenly uneasy with her topic of conversation. "You don't have to explain anything to me -- it is your band, to deal with as you see fit."

She smiled slightly, but her eyes were still fixed to the dancing lights before her. "Perhaps," she nodded, "but... I'd like to tell you, at least vaguely."

He didn't say anything. She seemed to take his silence as an approval for her to continue.

"When we first met them, at the Friendly Arms, they were... well, they were strangers." She sighed heavily. "Khalid spoke first, breaking the ice. Jaheira spoke after him. She was... less than warm. She said she could see a resemblance between Gorion and I, though..." Her face scrunched up as she thought back. He thought it looked endearing. "Ah yes... it was a _slight_ on him."

He winced slightly, offering her as sympathetic a look as he could manage.

"From then on," she continued, "all the way to the mine and beyond, she would bring up everything wrong I did and multiply it tenfold. Khalid insisted it was because she was concerned, Imoen told me to give her a break until Jaheira started finding faults with her too. She wouldn't stop calling me 'child'! I'm probably older than her, even if I can't remember most of it!"

Xan fought hard to keep the smile off his face; her actions, the way she waved her hands around as she spoke when she got excited, the rising of her voice when she felt wronged or indignant -- they all said 'child' as loudly as the druid's formidable voice had... but he could also see the woman in her. Naive, stupendously innocent to the world, and ridiculously sheltered from everything relating to her past and her childhood... but a woman, nonetheless. She turned to look at him and smiled. He blinked twice and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

"You were sitting there smiling at me," she remarked. He felt the colour rushing to his cheeks and prepared a denial, but she spoke on. "You think I'm a child too, don't you? I don't blame you... I know I'm not worldly -- but neither is Imoen, so don't let her tell you she is! But I'm not stupid... I don't think I am, anyway."

"I don't think you are either," he replied quietly. "Rash, perhaps, but not stupid."

She gave him a slightly outraged look. "Rash?" she spluttered. "_Rash_?! I'll have you know I'm _very_ calm and controlled, due to _years _of practice at meditative arts..." Her voice drifted off -- he was giving her a wry look and she grumbled in complaint. "Okay," she relented. "Occasionally I can be... pushed into impatience." She smiled smugly. He rolled his eyes. "Is that why you've been quiet? Because of everything that happened."

"Ah... slightly," he admitted uncomfortably. "It was... a bit of a surprise to see them depart so abruptly." He noticed her nodding -- she looked sad again. He wondered if she really _had_ wanted them to leave, or if too many things had been said to save things.

"This morning, Jaheira came to see me in my room and tried to explain to me that I should value steadfast friendships, especially since I'd lost Gorion. I told her that I had Imoen for that, that I had her and Khalid, now you and Branwen. Why would I want to make a man stay with me when he was miserable and declared his intention to leave? She said he probably was too confused to know what he wanted, and that I should have insisted he stay with us so we could look after him. But I have Imoen to look after... and me."

She turned into a child again before his eyes, huddled into her robes as she sat at the fire; her knees drawn up before her, her arms wrapped fiercely around them. Her chin now rested on her knees, her green eyes were tinged with sadness and loneliness... and fear? She looked scared -- no, terrified, and alone. She shouldn't be alone like this. He sighed.

"It hardly matters," he said softly. "Whether you stand with one friend or five; your enemies won't care in the slightest, cutting you all down with a practiced ease. Considering we'll be lucky to survive the next encounter we have whether it is a wild wolf of the woods, or an ogre roaming onto the roads, we have nothing to look forward to, except a swift death at the hands of Tranzig."

"It'll only be swift if we're really lucky," she replied morosely. "He might drag it out, seeing how long he can make it last." Several moments of silence followed her words as he pondered the validity of them, but then to his surprise he heard her giggling, her face buried into her arms as she tried to muffle the noise. He smiled.

"Sorry," she snorted in between chokes of laughter. He saw her pulling down her sleeve to cover her hand, and quickly pulled a handkerchief from his own pocket, offering it to her graciously. She paused, her makeshift tissue halfway to her eyes, then accepted his gift, daubing at the tears as she continued to chortle. "Your expression, though," she whispered, trying to regain her breath as she handed his cloth back, "was _priceless_."

He didn't know whether to be offended or not, so instead resorted to a haughty sniff, and shifted himself so he'd turned away from her slightly, looking back down at his spellbook. He felt her hand on his arm and immediately tensed.

"Sorry," she repeated, this time solemnly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

He shook his head. "You didn't," he said reassuringly, offering a weak smile until she brightened up. He couldn't stand to see her looking down -- the life seemed to ebb from her features, the zest vanished from her countenance. When she smiled, though, it added colour to his surroundings. It came close to making _him_ feel... moderately all right. He frowned at his train of thought, shaking it violently from his mind and letting out the most heart-wrenching sigh ever heard. She looked at him in surprise.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "That was one _terrific_ sigh, and _something_ must have caused it."

He shrugged at her, discretely removing his arm from her hand. She pulled away, and for a moment he wondered if he saw hurt in her eyes -- but no, it was likely a trick of the firelight, because soon enough she was back in her usual, hunched position. Before long her eyes were closed, her reflective meditations entered. He wasn't foolish enough to think she was unaware of her surroundings though -- the time he'd spent around her had shown that when she sat like this on guard, her senses were heightened to such a point that she was usually the first to detect anything unusual nearby. This helped him to relax slightly, and with great reluctance, he looked back to his book, trying desperately to concentrate enough to memorise his spells.

If the next day came and he had no magic at all at his disposal, it would be her fault.


	6. Changes

**Author's Note:** Time to pick up a few more figures -- Kivan won't be along for long, but Garrick's stay with the party is as yet undetermined :) Thanks, as usual, for all the reviews -- this chapter was slightly harder to write, if only because I'm not very good at writing for charming bards, it would seem :D

----------

_All my life I've been waiting_

_For you to bring a fairytale my way_

_Been living in a fantasy without meaning_

_It's not okay, I don't feel safe_

_I don't feel safe_

_-- Anastasia, Left Outside Alone_

----------

Branwen was beginning to get on his nerves.

Since they'd arrived in Beregost and found out that Tranzig was renting a room in Feldepost's Inn, the warrior priestess had been desperate to pay him a visit. Nuila had spent the best part of a day explaining why they had to wait, explicitly going over the fact that both she and Imoen were inexperienced, and that they may lack the kind of power needed to take down someone of his status. Branwen had been distinctly unimpressed, storming out from the Jovial Juggler as Nuila rolled her eyes in exasperation, being dragged off by Imoen shortly after for 'sightseeing'.

They returned just before Branwen did, and they were as stunned as he was with the cleric's new found friends.

"This is Garrick," she smiled smugly, waving at a young boy who looked around nervously. "And this is Kivan." A tall elf stood behind her, glaring around at the other customers. He nodded to Xan when they shared a glance, acknowledging his kin, but only regarded Nuila and Imoen with some scepticism.

"This is your war band?" he asked. His voice was low and quite rough for Tel-Quessir. Branwen nodded and he sighed heavily. Nuila and Imoen gave him an indignant look.

"Well, we might not look much, but there's more to us than meets the eye, mister!" exclaimed the pink-haired one. Xan rolled his eyes slightly; the girl believed every word she'd said, which was almost pitiable. Nuila was fiercely voicing her agreement.

"We might not have been doing this as long as you, but we've been through a lot so far, and we can handle ourselves -- there's no need to give us such an _obviously_ dismissive look."

The elf named Kivan regarded her with amusement, then threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine," he relented. "The warrior maiden said you intended to hunt bandits in the area -- since I have been doing likewise, I suggest we join forces... if you're accepting new members to your group."

Xan noticed that Nuila's chin was sticking out rather defiantly. He closed his eyes in desperation -- _please don't let her turn him away just because he offended her_, he entreated to the Seldarine silently. Ages seemed to pass before he heard her voice -- somewhat reluctantly, it sounded to him, accepting the offer to join together. He opened his eyes as the others turned their respective gazes to the other newcomer.

"So... Garrick is it?" asked Nuila. A smile lit up her face and Xan felt his stomach sinking. The man nodded back enthusiastically. "You wish to join us too?"

"Well, not exactly," he replied hesitantly. "I'm actually looking for some mercenaries..."

----------

That evening they found themselves sitting around a table back at the Jovial Juggler. Imoen was brandishing a brush, trying to work it through the charred parts of Nuila's mane of hair while the elven girl stared darkly at the piece of paper in her hands. It had been an... eventful afternoon, to say the least. Xan had harboured a foreboding feeling when they agreed to help 'guard' Garrick's former employer. In the end, they'd killed her after she tried to trick them into killing some of her contacts; Nuila had in turn knocked out the thieves that were delivering her gem, then sent Branwen off to find a local guard. That had been easier said than done, but eventually one had been found, and he'd dragged the men off while looking most disinterested in the whole event.

Due to Garrick's newfound state of unemployment, he'd agreed to join the group, despite what Xan saw as his dubious position of having been the man behind their most recent danger. He'd suggested a quick drink in the local tavern to calm all their nerves after the fight; that plan had been a spectacular failure, only leading to Nuila effectively breaking a table in half as she kicked out at the dwarven assassin that charged at her, knocking him backwards with some force. The barkeep had tried to fine them for the damage, but Kivan had said something to him in a hushed tone, and he'd wandered off while muttering to himself.

Xan sighed. Sheer luck had kept them alive another day, only to allow them the most painful and prolonged death at the hands of Tranzig, no doubt. The lightning bolt that had come from Silke's hands -- the woman who Garrick had worked for -- had done no more damage than to mess up Nuila's long, silky hair, and no matter what Imoen tried there seemed to be no way of repairing it. The thief sighed heavily as she worked, frowning and shaking her head as she tried rubbing some oil onto the frazzled ends, occasionally causing Nuila to yelp in pain as she pulled the brush rather violently through the larger knots.

"So, Garrick," he heard Nuila saying pleasantly. "Are you a bard, too?"

Silke had been an actress, apparently, and a skilled minstrel. The young man nodded, and pulled a small mandolin out from somewhere -- Xan had no idea where it had come from, and decided he probably didn't _want_ to know; instead he sat glumly, listening as the 'bard' gushed on about his love of music. Nuila looked positively delighted.

"So you sing?" she asked. She sounded far too eager for Xan's liking, and to his dismay Garrick nodded, then started plucking on the strings of his instrument. His voice joined in soon after -- not that bad, in all reality, for a human, Xan reflected, but still quite gravelly compared to the voices back home. The tune picked up, causing both the girls to squeal in delight. Imoen dropped the brush to the table, Nuila's bad hair day momentarily forgotten, as the two girls leapt to their feet, whirling around together as they joined in the song. Branwen was clapping along and even Kivan's foot was tapping slightly as he watched the sight.

Xan was mesmerised. The elves of Evereska loved to dance, and so the sight was not uncommon to him -- but never had he seen it done with such raw energy and boisterousness as Imoen and Nuila displayed. There was little grace in their movements as they used momentum and speed to keep them spinning round and round, only their hold on each other preventing them flying apart and into the surrounding tables. But they were perfectly in time, jumping and clapping each other's free hands to the beat of the song, their eyes fixed to each other in delight as they forgot their worries and let their fears slip away.

But it was only for a short while -- before long the song ended, the girls slowed down, and then staggered back to their seats, dizzy from the dance and supporting each other. They giggled together for a few minutes, then the seriousness returned -- Imoen picked up the brush once more and Nuila's eyes fell back to the paper she'd been studying so intently. It was another bounty notice; the same as Jaheira had picked up in Nashkel. Xan wanted to take it gently from her grasp, to toss it into the fire -- to get it away from her.

The others spoke around him, but he paid little attention; his eyes remained on Nuila whenever possible -- he'd avert his gaze if anyone else looked over to him, but it wouldn't be long until they found their way back to her, wishing the cheerful, happy girl would return. Eventually Imoen gave up with the hairbrush, bidding goodnight to the group, Branwen and Kivan following her shortly after. Xan briefly pondered doing likewise before he realised it would leave Nuila alone with this new boy. The enchanter found it hard to not carry some suspicion -- not only had he led them to his potentially murderous employer, but he just happened to suggest they frequent an inn homing a trained killer who was seeking Nuila's head. None of the others seemed to think these events were related, however, but Xan couldn't help but let the distrust build up.

Plus, he was talking to Nuila again, and she'd begun to smile.

"You must tell me about your adventures in the mine," said Garrick eagerly. "I'm sure it would make an amazing tale!"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Nuila quietly. "Most of the heroics came from two others who don't travel with us any more."

"Come now, fair lady," coaxed the bard in what Xan assumed was meant to be a soothing voice. "I'm sure you're not telling me the full story -- surely there is something good about it that you can tell me?"

Nuila seemed to smile slightly. Her eyes darted up -- he thought they briefly settled on him for a second before drifting off to gaze around the other clientele. "One or two good things did come from it," she murmured softly, grinning mischievously to Garrick when he raised an eyebrow. "But that is for another time. Tell me of your stories."

"I am sure my experiences are nothing in comparison to your own," he said ruefully, a small sigh finishing his sentence. Nuila gave him a sympathetic look and Xan diverted his eyes, staring over to the bar. He felt awkward in the presence of the two, but he was loath to leave her alone with what was essentially a stranger. "I travelled for a bit with Silke. I knew she was trouble, but she always managed to get out of things, and it made life exciting, that's for sure."

"Have you travelled far?" Nuila's eyes lit up -- a quick glance was all Xan needed to realise her curiosity about the world, another sign of her incredibly sheltered life. Perhaps he should have mentioned his past missions to her... the places he'd been, the towns he'd seen. Perhaps she would have been interested...

"Well, not as far as some," admitted Garrick, "but recently we were in Calimport-"

Nuila's eyes widened. "Really?" she asked, her voice tinged in awe. "Khalid -- one of the people I travelled with before -- was born there, and he told me a little about it. It sounded _fascinating..._"

"Oh, it was!" exclaimed Garrick eagerly, immediately recounting his tales from his visit to the city in the south. Nuila listened intently, hanging onto every word, even when it was so far-fetched it had to be untrue. Xan sighed but neither of them paid any heed -- her attention was taken up fully by the bard, and his eyes were fixed firmly to her face as he spoke; he smiled when she did, he nodded when she gasped. He held her enraptured with his words, charmed by his stories, and all Xan could do was sit at the other side of the table, an invisible attendee at a private discussion.

When Garrick finally finished he leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly to the girl. Nuila still had her chin in her hands, her gaze fixed to him. Xan idly stretched his arms, partly because they were stiff, partly to show he was still there. Neither acknowledged him.

"You might get bored travelling with us," said Nuila to Garrick. "I can't imagine we'll go anywhere _nearly_ as exciting as Calimport. Though we might get to Baldur's Gate, eventually.

"I think the company would more than make up for it," smiled Garrick charmingly. Xan felt himself glaring, and he quickly reigned in his stare, forcing himself to study his fingernails intently so he couldn't see Nuila's rapidly blushing face.

"Hah!" she said, sitting up straight. Xan looked up long enough to see her batting her eyelashes at the young human, and he clenched his teeth. "You must say that to all the girls!"

"Only the ones who deserve it," replied Garrick, seemingly serious -- his pale face and wide eyes were gazing at Nuila in a lovesick manner. Xan went over all the domination and charm spells he knew off by heart. "And there has only been one lady to be worthy so far." The bard took Nuila's hand in his, delicately raising it to his face as he brushed her knuckles with his lips. His eyes never left hers. Xan cleared his throat.

"Oh." Nuila looked over to the enchanter, slightly abashed. "I'm sorry Xan... you must think we're terribly rude to have ignored you this long."

He was about to reply when the infuriating bard interjected. "I'm sure he's been fine, dear lady -- and the hour is late, so if our... discussion is not to his taste, he could always turn in." Garrick threw him a hopeful smile and a wink. Xan glared frostily back.

"I am not tired," he said bluntly. Nuila seemed to shift uncomfortably, and Garrick's smile faded to leave a puzzled expression.

"Ah... well, I see," the human said quietly. "I... ah... think I shall retire for the evening, however." He turned back to Nuila. "It has been... enchanting." More smiles were exchanged and Xan's hands clasped tightly together as the human took far too long to actually leave the table and move towards his room for the evening. Nuila watched him go, her eyes not leaving him until he'd disappeared around the corner to the stairs. She sighed softly as she turned back to the table, examining her mug for any traces of liquid.

"Is it wise to trust him?"

She looked up to him with a raised eyebrow. A few moments passed before she replied, carefully. "What do you mean?"

Xan sighed -- partly with frustration, partly with weariness. "Twice today you have found your life in danger -- both have been at his behest. You should be careful in his company."

She kept staring at him, and he became uncomfortable. Then she started nodding slowly. "You think he's dangerous?" she asked.

"I think _anyone_ you don't know has the potential to be dangerous," he said.

"I don't really know you."

The words cut into him sharply -- more than he'd expected or been prepared for. His breath caught, his body tensed -- he was sure she noticed, because her eyes narrowed and a small frown creased her brow. He quickly composed himself, trying to wave it off as if it had never happened. "You have shared my company for longer," he eventually managed. "I'd like to think you can trust me to some degree."

More silence. "I can," she said quietly. "But I see no reason why I can't trust Garrick either."

He groaned, but relented. Risking an argument with her would only push her away, and for some reason, he didn't want that. Instead he found himself moving over to Imoen's vacated seat. He picked up the brush she'd left on the table and motioned for Nuila to turn around so she had her back to him. She gave him a bemused look but complied, and he slowly began to work the implement through the strands of her hair.

"Just be careful," he urged, gently working out the tousles. He felt her head nodding at his words.

"I will be. And I have Imoen, and Branwen. And you."

Something about the pause caused a strange sensation to pass over him, but he swallowed hard, concentrating on the job at hand. Soon enough he'd solved the problem with the knots, but the charred ends of her hair were still brittle to touch. He let his hand run over them, a mournful sigh escaping before he could stop it. She turned around to face him.

"Is it really bad?"

"There's nothing I can do for the damaged parts," he admitted. She nodded and pulled a sharp knife from one of her boots. He flinched when she handed it to him, but she just smiled encouragingly.

"Cut off however much it takes," she insisted, turning back to face away from him.

He looked at the dagger; it was sharp -- sharp enough to easily perform the job, he guessed, but the thought of it made his hands tremble, and he hesitantly took some of her hair, biting his lip before he sliced through the strands. The damaged locks fell to the ground easily, and it took him no time to remove all traces of the lightning. Her hair was left half as long as it had been, and her hand wandered up to it, experimentally feeling the new length as it curled around her shoulders. He placed the knife on the table, using his hands to arrange the settling of the waves, allowing his hands to slip through her tresses for longer than was strictly necessary. Her hand found his, and both paused, momentarily reaching for the other before they drew away simultaneously and she turned back to face him shyly.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "It will take some getting used to, though."

"It... befits you," he replied hoarsely. He meant it -- though her hair had been lovely and flowing before, the new, shorter style afforded just as much natural beauty, and it seemed to naturally draw away from her face more -- meaning that he could see her cheekbones, her eyes... her ears, so much clearer. His throat went dry, and he desperately tried to swallow.

She'd turned a moderate shade of pink at his words, but was grinning widely to him. She returned her dagger to her boot then watched as the last of the taverns other patrons moved carefully towards the inn's door and sighed. "I guess that's our sign to go to bed," she said, standing up from her chair. To his surprise she held out her hand, and he hesitantly accepted it, entwining his arm in hers as they walked to the stairs together. She wished him a goodnight from the doorway of her room, then disappeared from view, the sound of Imoen's snores drifting from the crack under their bedroom door. He stood there for many minutes, his mind swirling around as he looked at the closed door. Eventually he turned, and managed to find his way to his own room.


	7. Religion

**Author's Note:** Thank you for your continued reading and support with this, and especially to everyone who has left a review or message regarding it so far :D It feels quite slow going right now, but this chapter is (believe it or not!) what I see as a turning point for the relationship, and things should a _slight_ notch ahead in the next few updates!

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_Give me just a second and I'll be all right_

_Surely one more moment couldn't break my heart_

_Give me until tomorrow then I'll be okay_

_Just another day and then I'll hold you tight_

_-- Daniel Bedingfield, Gotta Get Through This_

----------

He could barely believe they still lived. Branwen's plan had worn down Nuila enough to persuade the girl to track down Tranzig the following day, and they'd cornered him in his room, accosting him about his involvement in the iron crisis. He'd sneered, mocked, and generally talked down at them until Branwen's warhammer had smashed across his face and Nuila had twisted his arm the wrong way up his back; then he'd been remarkably helpful and polite.

They'd still ended up killing him, though. Once again, Nuila tried to send Branwen off to find a guard, but somehow the usually careful war priestess 'tripped' on the rug and crashed heavily onto the mage, weapon first. Somehow, she managed to pull Imoen down with her, whose dagger had somehow slipped from her belt and into her hand. The very hand she'd extended out to prevent her heavy fall. The very hand that had been unable to miss Tranzig…

Needless to say, Nuila hadn't been overly happy that evening.

So now they were traipsing north towards the rendezvous point that the mage had mentioned. Kivan was being his usual silent self -- he'd barely spoken a dozen words in the group; unlike the bard, who was still chattering incessantly. Garrick had complimented Branwen on her luxurious golden locks, openly admired Imoen's skilful use with her bow and apparently amazing dexterity, and hovered around Nuila like an annoying fly since they set off that morning. What was worse, to Xan, was that she seemed to encourage him by not telling him to go away.

He walked behind them, far enough away to not infringe on their discussion, but close enough to overhear the conversation. They'd discussed music and poetry, two loves of the bard's life it seemed, then Nuila had gone through the various points on a man's body that she could manipulate to cause paralysis. It had quietened the human down for a few minutes, and Xan had been unable to suppress a sly smile. Unfortunately, Garrick had got over it, and had now turned the conversation to religion.

"So you follow the path of Tymora?" he asked, his charming smile fixed onto his smug, self-satisfying face. Nuila nodded amiably in return. "Isn't she the sister of Beshaba?"

He saw her wrinkle her nose and nod. "Though that is not a path I would have considered to take," she informed him quickly. "I couldn't worship a Goddess out of fear, in the hope that it would save me from bad luck. I could only pray and revere because I _wanted_ to."

Garrick nodded solemnly. "You were not attracted by the mischief associated with her sister?" he asked. "Or is that a path more for your friend?" Xan glanced over to Imoen -- she was skipping beside Branwen, teaching the priestess a song about hedgehogs.

Nuila shook her head and frowned. "Beshaba's trickery is malicious... Imoen doesn't hurt people. She didn't even feel that Mask was the right kind of guidance she sought."

"But you knew Tymora was for you?"

"Instantly."

Garrick looked curious. "Why?"

Nuila offered him a smile. "Because She is the Lady of Luck -- I found myself in a loving home with a wonderful foster father and an almost-sister. How could that have come to be, if I wasn't blessed with Her luck?"

"If you are truly blessed with her 'luck', how do you explain the assassins that are being sent after you?" Xan couldn't help but ask, even though it revealed he'd been listening in to the conversation. Nuila turned to look at him and shrugged slightly. Garrick threw him a small frown, but slowed down as Nuila did, allowing the enchanter to catch up and walk along with them. He positioned himself in the middle of the two.

"I'd say that the fact they haven't killed me-"

"Yet," he interrupted.

"-shows that Tymora smiles down on me," she finished, completely ignoring his interjection. "And anyway -- by standing up against them, and following in the footsteps of Gorion and his adventuring... I'm taking risks, and She will look upon me favourably for this." She nodded, accomplished by her own logic.

Xan sighed heavily, but managed to alter his pace slightly, effectively cutting off Garrick before he could dart around to walk at Nuila's other side. She threw the pair of them a curious glance but said nothing, and turned her head back to her path.

"I think that it is a wise choice," said Garrick. His voice sounded odd to Xan -- almost as if he were talking through gritted teeth. "If I were a religious man myself, I am sure that my tribute would be offered to her." He managed to feint slightly as he spoke, causing Xan to quicken his pace and allowing Garrick to duck behind him and appear around beside the elven girl. Xan drummed his fingertips on the hilt of his moonblade. "And do not think I have not noticed your new hairstyle!" the bard exclaimed, randomly changing the subject and daring to reach out and run his hand through Nuila's hair slightly. "It is very pleasing to the eye!"

"Thank you," she smiled, patting her locks with her own hand in a slight display of self-appreciation. "Xan was kind enough to cut off the damaged hair last night after you retired."

"Oh, he was, was he?" asked Garrick darkly, throwing a decidedly hostile glance over to the enchanter. Xan only felt a slight amount of satisfaction from this as the bard continued. "Perhaps Tymora was... indisposed last eve."

Nuila gave Garrick a questioning look, but he only offered a charming smile in return. "I mean," he explained lightly, "that if you had been truly blessed with the greatest of good fortune, you would have had the expert hands of a master of crafts and style to gently remove the broken ends and lovingly nurture the finest of gold, which springs from the most beautiful of heads, this side of Faerun."

Nuila grinned widely. "You mean, Master Bard, that you would have helped me to sort out the mess that was my hair?" she asked teasingly.

"Why of course, my lady," he said, pausing in his gait to offer a swift and chivalrous bow. "How could I possibly have declined such a truly enticing request?" Nuila was colouring rapidly.

"Though I am loath to admit it," said Xan quietly, "perhaps there is more to this worship of Tymora than I initially suspected."

The girl turned back to him, her eyebrow raised and a look of surprise on her face. "Of all the people present, Xan," she said, "I would have thought you'd have been the _last_ to accept my choice of deity!"

He shrugged uneasily. "Well, it is true -- you are an elf and yet you worship a human God when you could easily follow one of your own. You believe in the folly of luck and good fortune when neither exist -- most certainly not enough to place your continued well being in their hands -- and all that it can possibly give you in the end is a sudden and unexpected death, that, in reality, you should have seen coming."

She laughed slightly. His heart felt lighter. "So tell me, my dear enchanter," she asked gently. "Why do you say there might be more to worshipping Her than you initially suspected, when your feelings on the matter are so clear?"

Xan offered her the wryest of smiles, ignoring Garrick's glare. "Because, my martial leader, had she been a _total_ myth, then you _may well_ have had Master Garrick, here, tending your hair."

----------

Before long, Garrick had sloped off from their immediate company, attempting to work his charms on the unreceptive Branwen and the slightly suspicious Imoen, while Kivan carried on ahead of them all. Nuila seemed content to stay at Xan's side, much to his surprise -- pleasant surprise, however -- and he desperately tried to think of something to talk about that would entertain her as well as the bard had. Before he had a chance, though, she'd begun a conversation herself.

"So, you really don't have much time for Tymora?"

He cringed inwardly; she had to ask _that_, didn't she? He sighed, trying to compose an answer that managed to avoid the whole question, but he could feel her keen gaze on him. He gave in. "Not really," he admitted with a shrug. "I think it's even more hopeless to believe that anything as foolish as 'luck' has any bearing on our eventual demise."

She nodded thoughtfully. "You know, Xan," she said in a serious tone. "I admit that we all will die one day -- after all, it's just what happens. But there is this thing that happens before it, called 'life'. I know you might miss it in your eternal optimism, but it happens to be the thing you're doing right now. You know -- the whole breathing and existing thing."

He looked at her completely deadpan, and she burst into a fit of giggles, causing the others to look over at her in mild curiosity. He rolled his eyes in slight exasperation, but inwardly something was happening to him and he could feel a warm glow. The same feeling he'd had when-

No. He would not think of that again.

Eventually she composed herself, after much chortling and snorting. It really was an undignified display -- no other elven girls had allowed themselves to lose control so fully in their humour, and he found it oddly refreshing -- though it was also painfully... _human_. "Sorry, sorry," she said. He watched as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve -- a habit she seemed reluctant to part with. He found it... endearing, to an extent, though it made her appear vulnerable and fragile. Almost like a child. "You're so funny, sometimes, and you don't even realise it."

He wondered if he should be insulted -- but he couldn't detect any malicious intent in her words at all. Instead, he felt vaguely pleased -- the bard hadn't succeeded in making her laugh, but he had. Surely that counted for something? He wasn't sure why it was important that it did, but it was.

"I am glad I amuse you so," he remarked dryly, causing her to grin at him mischievously. He knew she'd see the twinkle in his eyes and not take renewed offence. "I will endeavour to continue at it, while we manage to stay alive -- and truly, I am surprised we still are. I expected us to die within a tenday, if not earlier... but your resourcefulness will never cease to amaze me, it seems. Quite an accomplishment for one so young."

"I'm not _that_ young," she protested slightly, a small frown creasing her face.

"But you are," he replied gently, sighing mournfully. "It is not something to be ashamed of, Nuila. Believe me, it will pass away faster than you think... if you live that long, of course."

He flinched as she punched him lightly on the arm. "Of course I will," she chided. "Tymora watches over me, remember?"

She danced away from his glare, so full of life and energy and youth that he felt as if his heart would explode. Realising he wasn't going to rise to the bait, she weaved her way back over to him, walking closer by his side than she had previously, and in silence. He cleared his throat. "I was sent to the Sword Coast to accomplish a mission I thought to be impossible," he said quietly. "I still do, for the odds are not at all in our favour... but we go on, and that gives me a gleam of hope. It might happen that I will finish my task and live to see my home at Evereska once again."

She seemed to perk up at the mention of his homeland -- the curiosity she displayed for anywhere she'd never been shining through again. "Tell me of Evereska," she said, a trace of fervour in her voice. "I have not seen much of these lands... I know little of anywhere, but I wish to learn!"

He offered her a slight smile. "Alas, my words could not do the verdant valleys and beautiful structures any justice," he sighed.

Her face fell. "Oh," she said quietly. "Well, perhaps I will see it for myself, one day?" she said hopefully.

"We are doomed, Nuila," he reminded her. "But... but if we somehow survive..." His voice trailed off. She continued to look at him, and he sighed. "My apologies, but... perhaps we should talk of this later. It awakens memories of my home, and..."

She nodded slowly, reaching out to take his hand. With a gentle squeeze she whispered to him. "I understand."

He nodded in return, offering a weak smile. Silently, she withdrew from his company, floating over to Imoen's side as Garrick continued in his attempt to break through Branwen's icy exterior while Kivan diligently scouted ahead. He sighed heavily, suddenly weary with the travels and the company -- a simple conversation had become so difficult when he thought back to the city he called home -- the terraces of flowers, the pools of clear water that sparkled beneath the gaze of the sun. She would never see it... they'd find their death soon enough -- her foolish worship would do nothing but hasten her demise by giving her false confidence that would bring about her downfall. She would never witness the true beauty of an elven homeland -- something she'd been cheated from her whole life. _Tymora, indeed._ He snorted. It was enough to make his heart feel heavy again.


	8. Reverie

**Author's Note**: Well, here comes the start of the blossoming relationship, I guess (I'm sure Menelanna, at least, will be overjoyed at this point ;) )

----------

_And days like this are sweet_

_I'm walking in my sleep_

_It's a place where I belong_

_Someday I'll go back home_

_-- Chemical Brothers, Life is Sweet_

----------

They were close to the bandit camp -- Xan could tell by Kivan's grim expression that they were less than an hour away, but the night was fast approaching and to his relief, Nuila signalled for a halt. They quickly made up a camp, arranging guard shifts then going about their usual duties. For Xan, this meant pouring over his spellbook while Imoen asked what all the pretty writing meant.

"They're runes," he said for the seventh time that week. He'd gone past the point of being annoyed and now answered her almost automatically without even registering her voice. Predictable as she was, he found that he didn't even really need to_ listen_ to what she was saying to answer her correctly. He found this mildly amusing, but easily put it down to the predictability of humans.

"Will you teach me some spells?"

He blinked, completely caught off guard. "I, well, er." 

"That's really articulate of ya, Xan. Is that how ya say 'yes' in your strange elfy language?" She grinned mischievously at him; a genuinely warm expression, and the first he'd really registered from anyone in his present company excluding Nuila. It was enough to throw him slightly, arousing his suspicion as to what was causing it -- the cynical part of his brain was telling him it was a show to coax him into doing what she wanted, but another part of his mind insisted that it was out of genuine friendship. He remembered that the two girls had been left alone in the world -- was it really such a strange notion to think that they'd _want_ to have friends?

He tried to glare at her anyway, but she'd picked up a few of his scrolls and was running a finger softly over the parchment. Branwen, Nuila and Kivan were huddled around the fire as Garrick tried his hand at cooking, planning their next move for when they got closer to the bandits the next day. He found his attention flickering over to the form of their leader; she was sitting straight, with a small frown on her face as she listened to Kivan speak. Xan couldn't make out the words from where he was, but he was content just to see her across the flames. Then he caught sound of Imoen's careful murmurs.

"You should be careful saying such things," he said with a trace of approval at her ability to work out the more complicated words. "Without proper knowledge, attempting to cast a spell could be the last thing you do."

The girl grinned at him. "You'll have ta teach me then, won't ya!" she announced happily, ignoring his groan of protest -- which wasn't completely genuine, anyway. Imoen was a bright girl -- arguably brighter than Nuila, though the elven girl showed a great deal more common sense. The roguish little human called over to Nuila, asking to take the first guard with Xan instead of her final one with Kivan, and the elf nodded back, causing the human to squeal in joy. Xan could imagine how long the night was going to be.

----------

She was crying out again. He had suspected her sleep was disturbed when they'd first camped outside as a group, and when he noticed how tired she appeared to be on many mornings his suspicions only deepened. He hadn't realised how deep her troubles seemed to go, however. Carefully he reached out to try and calm her, but she violently lashed out at his touch, moaning louder and making him withdraw swiftly. Imoen was watching from behind him fearfully, all lessons about magic temporarily forgotten.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

"A long time," replied Imoen quickly, seemingly worried by his abruptness. "Since we left Candlekeep, really. Every night she seems to have nightmares, though some nights don't seem to be as bad as others."

"Even when you share a room at the inns?"

"Even then."

She was sweating profusely, her calls getting louder and louder. The others had been disturbed enough to waken up, and now they were approaching, wondering what was wrong. One final scream was enough to jolt her from her nightmare, and she looked around wildly as if trying to remember where she was.

"Shhh," he said, attempting to offer comfort. "It was a dream, nothing more." He looked back at the others, waving them away. 

Kivan nodded. "Leave her to sleep this night. I will take the final watch alone," he stated before returning to his bedroll. Branwen and Garrick followed suite hesitantly, both throwing worried glances back at the dazed elven girl. Imoen was sitting at her side, her arm around her friend's shoulder as they whispered together. Xan shifted, preparing to move away to give them privacy when Nuila caught his arm.

"You don't need to go," she said. Was it pleading he detected in her voice, or did he just want to hear it that way? Regardless of what it actually was, he settled back down, watching her with his own concerned eyes. She tried to offer a weak smile.

"What is it that causes you so much distress in your sleep?" he asked. She gave him a pained look.

"Blood," she said quietly. "Mostly blood -- sometimes daggers and people dying. Gorion, occasionally. Sometimes Imoen, others in the group. Death... always death."

Xan couldn't help but shiver at her words; she said them so simply, so easily that it was sinister to watch. She sighed heavily and Imoen hugged her. "What causes them?" he asked aloud, though it was meant more for himself. What had the girl seen to trigger such an extreme reaction; especially when she could barely remember much of her life to date, having no knowledge at all about the years before her foster father had taken her to Candlekeep.

"I don't know," she replied miserably. "I... I thought it was all down to seeing Gorion die because I keep seeing the man -- with his flashing yellow eyes and his spiky armour. But I saw the man from the mines this time -- and there's always a voice telling me to do things. It wanted me to pick up a dagger and stab him."

Xan shuddered. "Why do put yourself through such sights?" he asked.

She stared back at him blankly. "I must sleep, otherwise..."

He shook his head and her words faded away. "You are an elf, Nuila," he explained. "You can close your eyes and enter the blessed act of reverie, reliving memories, and regaining your strength. You need not sleep, especially when it tortures you so obviously."

She kept staring at him and he sighed. _Brought up by humans in a human environment, and look at her -- she cannot even perform the most basic of elven undertakings_. "You keep your eyes open, relax… allow yourself to drift into your past."

She nodded to him, suddenly determined, though her clueless expression failed to fill him with confidence. She shooed Imoen away slightly and settled herself back down into her bedding. He watched as she took a deep breath, tense and anxious as she lay there. He shook his head.

"No, Nuila, you must relax," he coaxed, taking her hand gently and trying to encourage her to unwind as he spoke in a low, soothing tone while he stroked the soft skin on the back of her hand. Eventually her muscles relaxed slightly and her breathing became more regular. He watched her for a while in silence as Imoen sat by his side, but before long her eyes fluttered shut and she started twitching, her mouth moving as she tried to speak.

"She's asleep," said Imoen with disappointment, carefully leaning over to shake her friend awake before her slumber became too deep. Nuila woke up quickly, but was almost as dazed as before, upset once more at the scenes she'd freshly witnessed.

"It's hopeless," said Xan dourly. "I cannot teach you what it means to reverie by words alone. As a baby, your mother would have entered such a state with you while she was still with child, and it would have become a natural process for you. There is no real way to convert that into instructions."

She sighed and he felt his heart swell in his chest until it felt like it would burst -- she looked so forlorn and helpless, the dark circles under her eyes casting a shadow across her face. He took a deep breath and tried to explain again, in more depth, how to call on the state of reverie. The rest of his watch was spent with him watching her drift off, only to discover she'd fallen asleep, and she would waken up with her breath shallow and her heart racing. There was only one thing left to try.

After Imoen had fallen into her bed, snoring wildly, and Branwen and Garrick had taken their positions by the fire, Xan returned to Nuila's side. She apologised to him as he approached, but he shook his head, stopping her words. "Take my hand," he said insistently, laying himself down beside her. She regarded him with curiosity but he ignored her -- the ground was hard and uncomfortable, but it didn't matter to him in the slightest. She did as he ordered, lying by his side at his word, her breathing becoming regular and content as his words became softer and quieter. Tentatively he reached out to her in the spirit of communion, finding her to be open -- unaware of another of the skills her kin possessed -- and it was easy for him to entice her into his thoughts as he drifted into his reverie.

When the images around him settled, he could feel her presence. Around him were the leafy terraces of Evereska and the majestic spires of the place he called home. A line of blue leaf trees lined the road before him, running alongside the path which itself was covered with forget-me-nots and daisies that had spread from the verdant lawns at either side. Many of the trees were sculpted into the shapes of animals and regal symbols, their foliage decorating the area with a tint of blue. A fine mist hung in the air, cloaking the nearest houses, their balconies situated high above, offering what could only be assumed to be grand views of the surrounding city. A cat darted past, in rapid pursuit of its prey, and slowly the sound caught up with the vision -- a soft, lilting voice drifted through the air; the sweet sound of song echoing in the quiet valley.

_Home_. He began walking.

----------

Xan stirred, feeling the familiar sensation of surprise that he was still alive. A quick glance to his side showed Nuila still in the throes of a peaceful reverie, though their link had been broken and she would stir soon after. Noises from nearby signalled the others preparing to move on, but he patiently waited until she came around herself, yawning and stretching as her consciousness returned. Eventually she looked over to him and broke into a huge smile. The shadows from her eyes were gone and the sparkle of life had returned in force. He found himself smiling in return without even meaning to.

"It was beautiful," she said quietly -- almost dreamily, he thought. "Is that really what it's like?" 

He shrugged slightly. "The images you saw were a poor comparison to Evereska in its true beauty," he sighed, closing his eyes at the memory of his home. Reliving it in reverie was both a blessing and a curse; a welcome reminder of his home, but a bittersweet experience that couldn't ever be as glorious as the real thing.

"I will have to see it for myself one day," she said quite confidently. "Thank you for sharing it with me -- I... I hope it didn't upset you."

"No, it is fine," he said, assuring her as he stood up. He extended his hand to her, helping to heave her to her feet when she accepted his aid. She didn't let go of his hand instantly; instead she paused, looking thoughtful, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Next time we rest," she said carefully, "I'd... I'd like to try and show you Candlekeep. If you'd like to, I mean," she added hurriedly, almost as if she'd noticed his frown.

"I would... like that," he replied, meaning it. "The exertion of sharing a reverie, however, may be too much to attempt at every rest -- but I would be... flattered to share with your memories, and allow you to share mine, whenever possible."

She smiled widely to him, suddenly throwing her arms around his frame. He froze in surprise, and she'd pulled away before he managed to think about reacting. He silently cursed himself as she backed away slightly -- she _was _still smiling, however.

"It is, alas, beyond my skill to erect a mental barrier to protect you from the dreams that haunt your sleep," he said softly, "but I if I _can_ give you even a brief respite from the horrors you see at rest every few days, then I shall."

"Thank you," she repeated, her face dropping slightly, her eyes darting up to look at him as she smiled bashfully. Her hands were behind her back, her feet shuffling shyly. His heart appeared to cease functioning and he wondered if he'd suddenly died to be faced with such a vision.

But then it was gone -- Imoen bounded over, asking Nuila what she saw and demanding details of everything while Branwen barked over to him, ordering his help with the packing. He sighed heavily -- the moment had passed and life returned to normal -- well, as normal as it got with his current companions. 


	9. Uncanny Abilities

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay! It was Tiax-dialogue induced :) He's not a character I'm overly familiar with, so anything glaringly OOC for him, let me know!

----------

_Call it stupid_

_Call it wrong_

_Call it reckless_

_See what we've gone and done_

_Who am I to break this young girl's heart_

_How the mighty rise and fall_

_-- Kristian Leontiou, Shining_

----------

It was hard to believe what they'd accomplished in such a short amount of time; especially considering, he mused, the lack of experience held by the two leading girls, and the departure of any seasoned warriors before they embarked on their journey to the bandit camp. And it had been a memorable journey -- they'd somehow survived the creatures of the forests surrounding Peldvale, and then Imoen had bluffed the bandits that had attempted to ambush them, letting them believe they were potential new recruits. And so they'd managed to get out of the hard work of actually tracking the bandits, instead being led to the camp by an affable man named Jasper, who seemed to be very interested in holding pink-hair's attention.

Of course, when they reached the camp and Tazok strode into sight, keeping Kivan under control had proved to be impossible, and a fully fledged fight had broken out. Garrick displayed his complete uselessness by fleeing into the trees, playing his harp from a safe distance -- the song did seem to have a rousing effect on Branwen and Nuila, however, and with Imoen and Kivan's marksmanship and his own repertoire of spells, they somehow survived -- even managing to bring down the ogre before he could flee into the woods. Their injuries were fairly bad, though, especially after discovering the men in the large colourful tent that had held the prisoner. The prisoner that was now part of their company, after his healing powers had gained him favour with Nuila. Xan was quite unsure what to make of him; he'd already been quite vocal, proclaiming to have worked _with_ Tazok and his men, but quite willing to change allegiance with apparent ease. Cyric deemed them worthy, apparently.

They'd moved far enough away from the camp to be removed from the threat of any other bandits stumbling across them, and Kivan had prepared a fire and a meal -- his last act for them before he left in the morning, as he'd implied would be the case. Nuila had graciously accepted his decision, causing him to look confused for a moment, almost as if he'd expected her to try and persuade him otherwise. He'd checked that she was sure it was fine and she'd nodded once again, offering him a bright smile before heading over to sit on her own. Xan thought his kinsman was wise to leave while he could, though he was slightly disheartened to see another capable warrior departing.

His eyes drifted back towards the elven girl. She was nursing her bandaged arm. Branwen had detected two clean breaks in it, but both she and the other new cleric -- a gnome called Tiax -- had exhausted their healing powers. He could only imagine how much pain it was causing her and he found himself wandering over, trying to work out how to offer some show of sympathy for her situation without becoming impossibly uncomfortable.

She didn't seem to notice him approaching; her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be concentrating -- her other hand lightly resting on the bruised flesh around the breaks in her bones. A blue light briefly shone from the touch, disappearing as quickly as it had come, and she opened her eyes and stretched her wounded arm slightly, only a slight frown on her face as she prodded and pushed at the skin. Eventually she looked up to see him.

"How... how did you do that?" he asked, staring at her arm. The bruises had faded -- they weren't fully gone, but they'd faded noticeably, and at least one of the breaks seemed to have mended.

"I don't know," she replied gently. She was watching him intently and he had to try and fight the look of concern from his face; he failed, the scowl only succeeding in becoming larger as he bent down beside her, his fingers running lightly over her former injuries.

"The... spell... you just cast -- it is not a natural one," he murmured thoughtfully. "I can feel that. And I assure you, it is a disturbing sensation."

Her eyebrow had risen. "Disturbing? What do you mean?"

He sighed, sitting down beside her on the fallen log she was perched upon. He wondered how to explain it; how to say that when he'd seen the light, he'd felt a shiver down his spine -- an inability to recognise where the power was coming from, and a vague sense of apprehension regarding such an ability. Eventually he took a deep breath and spoke. "When you called forth that power, it chilled me to the core. It was as if someone had walked across my grave."

She was regarding him curiously now, a concerned expression, mingled with something else... Disbelief? Fear? He couldn't tell.

"Do you even know where these come from?" he said, partly to break the silence.

She shook her head. "No, I don't. But anything that helps me survive is good, isn't it?"

He wished he could see it from her point of view; he desperately wanted to. But it was no good -- every bone in his body seemed to be shouting at him, warning him, telling him to be careful. He tried to word himself carefully. "You might survive, but will you remain yourself?" His eyes rose, meeting her green orbs; there was definite fear in them -- fear regarding his words, his manner.

"Why would I change?" she asked carefully.

"I am sorry," he offered, sighing heavily. "I may be speaking out of turn, or reading too much into it. But...these powers alarm me, and I would implore you to refrain from using them; if not for my sake, then for yours."

"But why?" she asked insistently. There was confusion etched on her face. "It lets me heal -- not just me, but others too. I healed up Imoen when a hobgoblin managed to slash open her arm, for goodness sake! How can that be bad?"

"You do not know what fuels this ability -- what grants you this divinity. You are no cleric, no druid, but something has granted you a healing touch. Does this not strike you as strange?"

"Perhaps," she admitted, her eyes falling down to the ground. "But... I think it's related to the dreams I've had. I... I sometimes waken up, and I just know I can do something new. I thought it was maybe because I'd meditated, honed my awareness so much... but now I think it's from the nightmares."

He watched her as she spoke; longing to reach out and hold her, to push the hair away from her eyes as it fell forward and into her face, to offer the comfort he knew any of the other companions would so easily give. "You may think that if you use them one more time, there will be no consequences; it is true," he tried to explain. "But if you continue, any change may become irrevocable. Your body may wither before its time, or your mind may go to pieces." He sighed. "I may be wrong, of course, and these are a blessed gift of the gods, but I find it hard to believe. Refuse it; do not doom yourself. Promise me you won't use them again."

Her head was shaking. "I can't, Xan. If... if someone is hurt and I can help them... I can't promise that I would be able to resist acting on that."

He nodded. "You scare me," he admitted, wincing as she looked at him sharply -- a gaze full of hurt and surprise. "This... it is more than strange -- it borders on the uncanny. You do not know your parents; you have unaccountable powers; countless assassins pursue you like a beast. Who are you, Nuila? What are you?"

She looked so full of sorrow that he felt as if his heart would burst. "I... I do not know," she replied morosely, standing from her seat. "Now it's _you_ scaring me." She turned and walked back to the others morosely, throwing herself beside the fire as Imoen appeared by her side, a look of concern on her face. He could see them speak, but pink-hair didn't look over to him -- there were no hostile glances or obvious glares, so he could only assume that Nuila had refrained from mentioning his name. Eventually the thief's arms went around the elven girl's shoulder, and he watched as Nuila leaned on her friend, the two girls cuddling as they sat at the fire. He sighed heavily.

----------

The gnome was every bit as difficult to travel with as Xan had worried. Kivan had been gone for less than an hour before he struck up a conversation with Nuila -- though calling it a 'conversation' was almost a joke, Xan reflected, walking along quietly behind them as he listened.

"When Tiax rules all, you will be the concubine that is permitted to wash Tiax's feet after a long day standing, waving at the adoring crowds," he declared, by way of starting the discussion. Xan saw Nuila throwing the gnome an amused look.

"That's very good of you, Tiax," she said pleasantly, causing the cleric to puff up slightly and nod in agreement. "But I can only accept such generosity if you allow Imoen to primp your hair at the start of every day, to ensure you look your best as you grace the masses with your sage words."

The gnome appeared to be completely oblivious to her teasing tone, and even Imoen's stealthy sniggering didn't distract him from his thoughtful expression. "Tiax shall consider it," he eventually assented.

"Mighty Tiax, you flatter us with your benignity," said Imoen, completely deadpan. He glanced around himself, smugly. Xan was at least thankful that his presence had caused Garrick to retreat from the girls' side; the bard seemed uneasy in the gnome's company, and was trying to avoid him at all costs. Although Tiax was quite unbearable, Xan was able to see the small silver lining his company was providing.

"So Tiax," said Nuila. "Tell us how you came to work for Tazok."

The gnome spat and scowled. "Tazok is a worm that deserved the death inflicted upon him!" he exclaimed, his voice annoyingly whiny and high pitched to Xan's ears. "They lied, and said that they were true followers of Cyric in all His glory, but Cyric saw their deceit! He told me when to ignore their pathetic orderings, and when to act on His word alone!"

"And I guess they didn't like that much?" ventured Imoen.

Tiax snorted. "Cyric has found better minions for Tiax now," was all he said, lapsing into silence as they walked. Nuila and Imoen shared an amused look, then went back to their usual conversations about Candlekeep and their childhoods. Xan kept listening, trying to look around him nonchalantly as he strode, and only barely noticing Garrick and Branwen conversing to his side.

"Do you think we'll ever go back?" asked Imoen. He felt his ears straining to listen at this question; Nuila's answer seemed so important to him, but he didn't know why.

The elven girl shrugged -- the creases in her robes moving fluidly with the motion. He found himself daydreaming -- imagining her figure in more tailored clothing, better quality fabric. A gown of striking violet silk that set off her piercing eyes as her blonde hair curled around her shoulders... he blinked, shaking his head and trying to pick up their conversation again.

"...knowing Gorion was dead?" Nuila had a sad expression; his lack of concentration meant he had missed the start of her answer, and he was unsure if it was a memory of Gorion that had set off her melancholy, or a negative answer to pink-hair's question. He started frowning.

"They'd know we weren't to blame, ya know?" Imoen was trying to comfort her; from what he had gathered, Imoen's own foster father -- or the man who acted closest to it, was still alive and back at the library fortress. This was probably why she found it easier to deal with the old sage's death -- he wasn't sure if Nuila appreciated that fact, or not.

"It wouldn't matter," the elven girl replied glumly. "Without him, they'd not want me there -- you know how Ulraunt sees me... only Gorion's influence let me stay there that long. And I still don't know what I did that upset him."

"He's just an old stuffy-faced buffoon!" exclaimed Imoen. "Plenty of others liked you and will be missing you -- Tethtoril, for example! And Parda, and Karan, and-"

Nuila laughed and held up her hands in defeat. "I guess," she admitted. "I just think it would be strange to go back, now. It might be nice, though, when we find out who killed Gorion, and make sure the authorities deal with it. Even if it's just to say goodbye."

He noticed Imoen's face turn solemn. "You're serious about not going back to stay, then?" she asked. "I mean, I know it'd be hard to get them to even let us in-"

"Winthrop would make sure you were allowed back in."

Imoen blew a raspberry. "I'm not going without you, silly! And I suppose we have a long way to go yet, before we get any answers to all this -- Gorion, the whole iron thing…" The girl paused and threw Nuila a mischievous grin. "Plenty of time to figure out where we'll go to after it all!"

Nuila laughed and they locked arms, all but skipping ahead of the group as they chattered lightly and laughed merrily, ignoring Branwen's annoyed warnings about enemies in the trees. Eventually the warrior priestess gave up in exasperation, returning to her conversation with Garrick -- the bard immediately going back into his smooth mode, smiling at her charmingly, though it seemed to have a limited effect on the canny cleric. Tiax was walking by himself; but a quick look to him showed Xan that he was watching the two girls intently -- almost too intently for the enchanter's liking.

----------

When they stopped that evening, Xan approached their leader quietly, waiting patiently until she finished her meditations. She looked up to him, her gaze slightly glazed for a few seconds until her focus returned, and she raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I wanted to offer an apology," he said hesitantly. "It was not my wish to cause you any distress."

She moved to stand from her cross-legged position, and he held out a hand to her, offering his assistance. She paused momentarily, regarding it with a hint of suspicion, as if she expected it to spew forth some magical energy to injure her. Then it passed, and he winced slightly at her tight grip, only barely managing to keep his balance as she hoisted herself up, her natural strength in full display against his own moderate reserves.

"I accept it," she replied quietly. He expected her to turn away without another word, to return to the others around the campfire, but she didn't. She seemed to be thinking, and he waited patiently for her to speak again. It took a few moments. "I understand how you feel," she said carefully, "but I do really believe there is nothing to fear. And I stand by what I said earlier -- I cannot agree to wilfully hold back on a healing ability if a comrade requires it." She raised her gaze to look him calmly in the eyes -- his heart seemed to skip a beat. "I will, though," she continued in a softer tone, "promise to not channel any energy I find I have, that is _not_ beneficial to the well-being of the group."

He sighed; she'd obviously tried to choose her words carefully, but he was no fool. Anything she managed to do could, arguably, be beneficial to the group -- depending on the scenario. But... she had tried to appease him -- to settle his fears. Perhaps that meant more to him, for now. He nodded solemnly to her.

"That... is good to know," he said clumsily. The twinkle in her eye had thrown him slightly off-guard. He was almost certain that she knew he wasn't fooled, but she seemed to appreciate his attempts to be appeased. She reached out, taking his hand back in hers.

"Let's go back to the others."

He could only manage to nod mutely and follow her; trying to concentrate more on the twisting path through the grass, than on the way her robes swirled around the curves of her body under the bright light of the moon. He failed miserably.


	10. The Moonblade

**Author's Note:** It's taken a while, but now it's here -- and some more progress is made. We run into some old friends, manage to put off Cloakwood for a few more chapters, and realise that Nuila and Tiax aren't really what you'd call... compatible :D And everyone's favourite red-robed wizard turns up in an establishment whose name probably mirrors his favourite hobby (assuming it's not referring to him, that is :) )

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_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you._

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do._

_I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you._

_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you no,_

_No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)_

_-- Chris Isaak, Wicked Game_

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Another day had brought another fight. Their respite at the Friendly Arms had been short lived, and the trip south, back towards Beregost, had seen them encounter all manner of creatures and bandits. There they'd at least managed to stock up on supplies and sell off what they'd picked up from the bandit camp, earning a small profit that would at least see them through another tenday. Branwen was gifted a new warhammer, though she spent almost an hour examining it critically; the news of the iron crisis was making everyone worry about their weaponry. For once there was a benefit to having his moonblade, it seemed.

Nuila and Tiax argued heatedly about the gnome's role in their group, though the elven girl managed to win eventually. The result had Tiax threatening to garrotte Garrick with his new sling when the bard experimentally sang the first few lines of his new composition, apparently provisionally titled 'His Big Nose Can't Make Up For Everything'.

After Thunder Hammersmith, himself, had ejected them all from his smithy, Nuila had let out a sigh almost worthy of his own collection, then announced that she was going to find an inn. He was quite surprised by this; why, he wasn't sure, because he had absolutely no idea what her next plans were, anyway -- but he dreaded to think what they _might_ be. The paperwork they'd found dotted around Tazok's base had spoken of another contact; a man named Davaeorn who was in charge of operations from a mine located deep in the Cloakwood forest. He was sure Nuila had been about to happily announce their intention to go there only yesterday morning, when the figure had come bounding out of the trees, dagger held high. Had he not stumbled and tripped on a remarkably large root from an oak tree, he might have got close enough to Nuila to actually injure her before the shocked expression managed to shift from her face. As it was, he was dazed and confused by the hit to his head, and to Xan's dismay, the monk insisted he was tied up and taken with them to hand into the authorities; at least, though, it had taken her enthusiasm away from finding Tazok's accomplice, for now.

That had led them to their destination of the Friendly Arm Inn, and their situation had been the main reason they'd almost been prevented access. The guards by the drawbridge were, quite understandably, hesitant to allow a band of unruly mercenaries entry when dusk had fallen -- more so when they actually have a captured prisoner, it seemed. But when the elven girl explained to them what had occurred, they were happy to relieve her of her captive; unfortunately, they were still unhappy about the prospect of letting them inside.

It transpired that Tiax had forgotten to mention the fact he was currently banned from entering the grounds of the inn for... well, forever, it seemed, after trying to burn several 'unbelievers' at a stake he'd erected between four trees in the fortress orchard during his last visit. Nuila pleaded with them for an age, assuring them that she would be personally responsible for anything he got up to while they were in the grounds, but it was only when the Guard Captain himself appeared that she had any luck. After taking him to the side and talking to him in a hushed voice, he eventually nodded. Xan was aghast -- who knew what trouble the foolish girl might get herself into because of the insane gnome!

But her plans became apparent enough. They were all herded, quite forcibly by her, into the inn's common room, and accommodations were sorted. She then insisted that they drop off their belongings, and so they had -- and as Tiax entered his room, Nuila had appeared by Xan's side and given him a fairly simple command that he was only to happy to adhere to. The sleep charm was quite basic, and it took a hold of the cleric quickly. Nuila smiled as she locked him into his room, leaving him collapsed and snoring upon his bed as she escorted the others back downstairs.

The gnome had been in a bad mood ever since, and the argument that had transpired in the smith was merely another demonstration of the vast gulf between his personality, and that of their leader. Less the enigma to Xan than she once was, he was still trying to work her out; her devotion to following laws and justice seemed as heightened as his own sense of duty, and he would probably have been less surprised to find that she'd found an affinity with the human god Helm. But no... she was a follower of Tymora, and running parallel to her duteous attitude was a mischievous streak that would surface form nowhere, and almost rival pink-hair's sense of devilry.

But the time when he most liked to see her -- to watch her, if the chance was possible, without the others seeing him -- was when she was meditating. For then her face became almost serene as she relaxed. She appeared less as a child and more as a woman; less as a troubled orphan on the run from various assassins, and more as a calm, controlled young lady of the People. If only he could find her a gown to befit her natural beauty.

He was broken from his reverie as they entered the Burning Wizard, Nuila deftly dodging between the patronage as she single-mindedly made a beeline for the bartender. Xan followed her, just behind Imoen. He knew the others were following -- Garrick's increasingly annoying voice was sharing some probably exaggerated tale with Branwen, while Tiax was still muttering to himself at the rear; the only gnome whom Xan knew that was able to mumble louder than the average human could exclaim.

They converged around the bar, waiting for service as Nuila drummed her fingers on the counter, idly glaring over to the cleric. He had deemed her unimportant and not worthy of his time, and was now quite vocally expressing how Cyric would ensure she was given no greater honour than the chore of de-fluffing Tiax's feet each night while Imoen rolled her eyes and made faces. Once again, he wondered to himself about the company he was electing to keep.

Someone cleared their voice behind them, and Nuila turned around, almost immediately bringing herself up from her hunched stance to stand tall and graceful -- the way Xan preferred. He wasn't surprised, however; the druid and her husband had obviously been active in the area, and seemed to also be in search of warm lodgings for the evening. The looks they levelled towards Tiax spoke volumes about the unspoken questions he imagined they had.

"We meet again," Jaheira noted quietly.

"We do indeed," replied Nuila. Her tone was pleasant enough, but Xan could feel the tension in the air between the two women. The smile that the elven girl levelled at Khalid, however, appeared to be genuinely warm.

"You seem to have found... interesting companions. Do you have the time to sit with us a while and tell us how things have fared with you?" The half-elf finally managed to drag her eyes from the gnome to regard Nuila coolly. The elf nodded graciously, waving to a nearby table and instructing Imoen to help her get drinks for everyone. Soon enough they were all settled together awkwardly, the enchanter wishing they'd been able to secure rooms before this had happened so that he could have made his excuses and retreated. The conversation managed to remain polite though; Nuila recounted their meeting with Tranzig and their trip to the bandit camp while Jaheira nodded impassively and Khalid remained silent. Then the druid spoke of their intention to visit a halfling village to the east, to solve the troubles they were having with creatures from the nearby ruins.

"You would do worse than to accompany us," she noted carefully. "Though you have faced some battles since your departure from Candlekeep, you are still remarkably inexperienced. You would be ill advised to press onwards to Cloakwood so soon."

Xan screamed internally. He had realised that if there was anything that was likely to make Nuila do something, it was giving her the impression you didn't believe she could achieve it. And to his dismay, her chin began to jut out and her eyes glinted. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"You're right."

He swallowed and began to choke, causing several pairs of inquisitive eyes to flicker over towards him. Imoen began to thump his back, seemingly bored with the conversation, while he looked at Nuila in amazement. She gave him one cursory glance -- was that amusement shining from her eyes, now? -- and then turned back to the druid to continue.

"And I welcome your offer, though I am reluctant to take it. Both Khalid and yourself are very experienced -- highly learned within your fields and more than capable to take out such a small matter on your own, I'd wager. I think... I think Imoen and I, and our group, would benefit more from tackling something by ourselves."

There was a long pause. Then, slowly, the two half-elves nodded after exchanging a quick glance. "We will be returning here when we are done," Jaheira said, slightly friendlier than she'd appeared to be before. "In the interim, there are outstanding bounties available to claim in Nashkel. Perhaps they would give you a chance to exercise your abilities and find your cohesion as a group." Her green eyes twinkled as she looked between Tiax and Nuila and the elven girl grinned to her.

"Stranger things have happened, have they not?" she asked playfully, standing up as the two older adventurers rose. "Thank you for the advice -- we will head there tomorrow morning and seek out the work. With Tymora's luck, our paths will cross again soon enough, and... well, the fates shall have decided where we will go from there."

The druid nodded. "Silvanus guide you," she said, bidding a good day to the others as she turned to go.

"G-good luck Nuila," smiled Khalid, warmly shaking her hand. She gave him a delighted smile that made Xan feel strange. He wished it had been directed at him -- but without him having to leave the group to gain it.

And then they left -- Nuila arranged rooms and handed out keys -- she was not cruel enough, it seemed, to force Xan into sharing with either Tiax or Garrick -- instead she'd decided they would bunk down together, as would Imoen and Branwen. The final room would be shared between her and himself, which she announced as airily as she did the food that Imoen had ordered for them. He felt the colour rapidly rising to his cheeks as Garrick openly glared around and Branwen gave a deep throaty laugh.

"The mageling is turning as red as the robes of the stranger who cannot seem to keep his eyes from you, my young friend," she remarked to Nuila loudly. They all, as one, turned to look over to the counter, where a dark haired man in a bright scarlet cloak and crimson robes almost fell from his stool in his haste to turn his gaze from them in a feign of innocence. Imoen sniggered and Nuila offered him a friendly wave when he ventured a quick glance around to see if they'd lost interest. He almost knocked over his drink as he leapt from his barstool, pushing his way through the patrons as Garrick loudly sang a verse from a song about impossibly large tomatoes.

Xan watched them all with a mixture of bemusement and horror. Did none of them realise that the man's robes -- eye catching as they were -- were more a badge of honour than bad fashion sense? He didn't doubt the priestess and bard would be ignorant of such things, and the mad gnome was still consumed by his irrational temper. The two young girls, however, betrayed no realisation of the identity man they'd just been involved in mocking, and he made a mental note to educate them about Red Wizards of Thay.

Before he could, though, they were served with platters of food; much more than they were actually due, Imoen announced with a sly wink, which caused Xan to pause mid-bite and wonder what exactly he was consuming -- or rather, _whose_ it was. He wasn't given long to dwell on this particular dilemma, though, as they were rudely interrupted by a gangly man, a mass of black hair hanging down around his bony face, and cold blue eyes seeming to bore into Nuila as he stared at her. The enchanter wondered if they were helping themselves to his supper.

"Embrace death as it wraps its arms around thee," he said in a chilling voice, "for I am Nimbul, and I have come for thy soul, upstart."

As his knife plunged down, Xan felt a sickening feeling plunge through his stomach and he thought there was a very real possibility he might be sick. He grabbed a handful of components from his pouch, barely registering the movements of the others as he fought past the relief washing over him when he realised Nuila's instinct had kicked in, and she'd deftly avoided the attack. Rapidly he murmured the words to his spell, trying to block out all other activity. The table was between him and the attacker, and so he took a chance, closing his eyes in order to concentrate more, to finish the spell faster. It was one he had not tried before, one he'd only just tried to learn, having received the scroll from the treasure in Tazok's tent. He could only pray that it worked.

The assassin was off-balance as he opened his eyes -- Tiax having slung a magical stone at him that caused scorch marks to his arm just as Nuila had stumbled in the cluttered battleground, falling over Branwen's misplaced shield. A green flash erupted from Xan's fingertips and an arrow shot towards Nimbul, striking him in his exposed neck. Almost immediately he staggered backwards, gargling as he clawed at his throat, pieces of flesh seeming to melt away as the acid took effect. Imoen gasped -- Xan wondered if it was shock or horror, and Branwen roared her appreciation. The enchanter was aware of the sudden silence as Garrick's hastily sung battle song abruptly ended, and he stole a quick glance over at the shocked young man.

Then he moved past the others and over to Nuila, helping her to her feet as she watched the disfigured corpse continue to bubble gently where the magic continued its work. "Come," he said softly, pulling her gently away from the scene and towards the stairs, intent on taking her to their room. To his relief, they got there without incident, and she sat down on the bed silently, looking up at him with widened eyes.

"You never told me you could do that."

"I'm a mage," he shrugged. "What else do you expect me to be able to do?"

"You saved me."

He felt uncomfortable. "I delayed the inevitable," he muttered. "But I am sure you would have survived the encounter, even without my assistance. The others were moving in to attack and you _do_ offer your following to Tymora..."

She smiled weakly. "I doubt that'll be enough," she mused. "I really need to keep my guard up, don't I?"

He sat down beside her. "You do," he nodded. "You could die any moment -- if not in one of the many battles we'll invariably face, then to one of the hundreds of assassins who have been hired to end your existence. How does it feel? Does it thrill you or frighten you?"

She seemed to ponder this for a minute. "I'm scared, I guess. But I don't have much choice but to go on."

He sighed. "That is close to what I feel about the endless chain of our battles. It can break any man, given enough time. Were I alone, I would probably consider closing my eyes and waiting for death to come; but I have a mission, and now I have companions I have sworn to protect." Her smile seemed to become stronger at his words and he was gladdened.

"I appreciate your loyalty," she said. "It... it's nice to know there's at least one of my companions I can rely on, who isn't Imoen."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't feel the same about the others?"

She coloured at his statement, much to his curiosity, and avoided his gaze. "I, um, no... I can honestly say I don't feel the same about any of the others as I do about you. Even Imoen." She gave him a sideways look before adding hastily, "But I trust her, and I trust you. Even with your prophecies of doom!"

He relaxed slightly. "I... thank you. But I fear that soon the unceasing chase we have to endure would get to you, as much as it has me." He leaned forward leaning his arms across his legs as he gazed down to the ground. "You cannot yet imagine the years upon years of facing deadly perils, of narrowly escaping death at every turn. Eventually, you will be forced either to become a merciless killing machine, or to lose your will to live."

He knew she was shaking her head, even if he couldn't see her. He just _knew_. "We know the Iron Throne are involved with this now, from the documentation we found in Tazok's possessions. Once I deal with this Davaeorn and whoever else is behind this, and avenge Gorion's death, then I'll be able to move on. I'll settle down, find somewhere nice to live, someone... someone nice to be with, maybe."

He looked up to her, but she'd looked away again. Her feet were shuffling slightly and her hands were holding onto the edge of the bed as she shifted. He found himself smiling softly while she wasn't paying attention. "Perhaps... perhaps, in the future, you indeed may forsake this self-destructive course and live a long, happy life, as you should."

Her eyes darted back to him and he immediately reverted to his familiar, gloomy expression. She regarded him with mild surprise. "That sounds strange, given that you've been adventuring... for how long? And you do not intend to settle down anytime soon, do you?"

The question felt loaded and he immediately felt himself tensing slightly. There was something he'd been meaning to broach with her, and now the opportunity had presented itself. He almost wished he could avoid answering it... And if... if he allowed himself to hope that she had any interest in him, which was, of course, foolish, then what he was about to say would kill it off before he was even made aware of it. But perhaps... perhaps that would be a blessing. He took a deep breath. "A moonblade wielder cannot escape into quiet and solitude, however they might wish it. Even as I hold the sword in my hand, it judges each and every of my deeds, demanding that I continue to protect my land and my people. I am the champion of the lost cause, summoned forth to fight hopeless battles, left without a choice, and, indeed, without a future." He sighed heavily, turning away from her. "I am so tired of facing this side of life, and it alone..." he added in a whisper, more to himself.

The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder made him jump slightly, and he looked round to see her smiling to him sadly. "I am quite ignorant of your status," she admitted abashedly. "Tell me more about your blade... if you will?"

He sighed, but obliged, filling her in on its history, on what it meant. She listened intently, nodding on occasion but not interrupting him at all. Eventually he reached the most difficult part, and he paused, unsure as to how to progress.

"And then what?" she asked. "It passes onto someone else in the family?"

His mouth felt dry. "It does... but you know of Arvandor, the place where all elves may go when they pass from this plane?"

She nodded, a happy smile adorning her face. "I read about it in Candlekeep," she said; he was sure he could detect some pride in there. "We are reunited with those we love, and we take on the age of our inner self, regardless of how old we were when we passed there. We become our inner being."

He smiled at the crudeness of her words... her _human_ way of phrasing it. He would educate her on the finer points one day, but not now... now he had to continue with his original tale before he lost the courage to do so. "A moonblade wielder is not guaranteed to reach Arvandor, perhaps until many years have passed; perhaps only centuries, if I am lucky."

Her eyes widened. "But why?"

"The sword I wield has a cruel tale to tell," he sighed. "It has originally been forged to choose a royal family, but now it is only a symbol, albeit an important one. The blade is thousands of years old, and it has passed through many hands, eventually ending up in mine. The previous owners are not simply dead, but their spirits are trapped within the moonblade; a terrible price to pay for using its abilities. Only when the blade's magic is no more are they allowed to travel to Arvandor. A similar fate awaits me in the end."

He'd expected her horrified look, but it was brief as she visibly tried to control herself. She straightened her seated position and nodded to him. "It is your duty," she said, somewhat hoarsely. "Regretting it will only make it worse."

"But I do not have the heart to follow my duty, Nuila," he admitted. "It used to be my source of inspiration, but now there is nothing but sorrow and regret. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of me, if I had never come by the blade. Perhaps my miseries started on the day I had acquired it... but that is a story for another time."

She reached out and took his hand, causing a strange sensation deep within him. His worries about the revelation lessened; she valued duty so highly, he should not have expected anything less, really. Though she seemed sympathetic for his fate, her very nature had taken the information, processed it, and understood it. She understood.

"It is late," he announced, standing suddenly. "Though I must admit, I am slightly... puzzled as to your decision regarding room allocation." The realisation that he was to spend the night in the same room as her suddenly struck him, and he moved away quickly, trying to put as much space as he could between them. _And I sometimes think that _she_ is a child..._ he chided himself.

She nodded brightly, patting the bed beside her. "I thought we could lie down together," she said simply. He boggled at her, then opened his mouth once or twice but failed to find the words. She paid him no heed, busying herself with the bedcovers. "I promised that I would repay you allowing me to share your reverie," she reminded him, turning back and noting his flabbergasted look. She blushed intensely and looked away again. "I, um, thought I'd try tonight, since I seem to have learnt how to enter a reverie by myself -- and I assumed you'd be able to tell me what I had to do to let you join me."

He felt both relieved and disappointed, changing colour to match her own shade of pink as he realised how presumptuous he'd been in assuming what she'd meant. "I, ah, would like that very much," he stammered, scratching his head nervously before he moved over to the bed, lying down tensely beside her. Their hands met, and soon all the awkwardness disappeared as he calmly and softly explained what she needed to do to allow him into her memories. It took a few attempts, but eventually he felt himself being drawn into her past and a building that was both familiar, and not, loomed before him.

_Welcome to Candlekeep_, he heard her commune.


	11. The Paladin

**Author's Note: **Thanks to work in real life settling down slightly (for a short while, at least), I decided to make the mostof the time I had to update; and so, this time around -- as the chapter has already informed you -- we meet a very shiny man with a very deep pride of his city.

**----------**

_Sleep will not come to this tired body now_

_Peace will not come to this lonely heart_

_There are some things I'll live without_

_But I want you to know, that I need you right now_

_I need you tonight_

_-- Smashing Pumpkins, In The Arms Of Sleep_

**----------**

Xan was jumpy. Well, more jumpy than normal, which was certainly saying something. The slightest rustle of a branch above him, or the crack of a twig underfoot was enough to make his eyes dart to the source, almost as if he expected an army of assassins to flood out from the undergrowth and bring about their swift deaths. Of course, knowing his luck this might not be so far from the truth.

It had started that morning while they were still in Beregost... while they were still in their room, indeed. The shared reverie had been pleasant, if a little telling; Xan had found himself being carried along by Nuila as she spent her quiet days in the fortress, fading from memory to memory. Childish pranks with Imoen featured highly, but he was pleased to see there were a fair number of recollections about lessons learnt at the hands of the monks. The girl had been a voracious reader and would quiz whichever tutor she came across as soon as she finished a tome about the information she'd picked up.

He wondered what she could have done if she'd put her mind to it. Certainly, the ability to understand, to learn, was there, but the practice... Many of the memories involved Nuila trying her hand at various professions in an attempt to please her worried looking foster-father, and he was dismayed to realise she hadn't exaggerated her inability to take up anything naturally at all. Of course, she _was_ something, wasn't she? A honed and skilled fighter, who didn't need a weapon to be deadly, and was improving in her style almost daily, it seemed. The very thought of it made him shudder.

He stole a quick glance over at her. She was walking with Imoen, as was the normal case, looking tired and drawn. He sighed. She'd fallen asleep after they'd come round from their reverie; one minute he was comparing the small gardens of Candlekeep with the acres of flowers to be found in Evereska, and the next he was listening to her steady breathing, her eyes closed as she lay by his side, completely relaxed and at ease. He'd smiled and extended a hand slightly, almost nervously, heading towards her cheek. But just before he could touch her she'd let out an almighty scream -- much louder than anything to date -- and began the usual process of thrashing around. It had taken him a long time to rouse her properly, and by then his arms had found their way around her as he desperately tried to stop her from hurting herself -- or him.

She had been drenched in sweat, her heart racing as told him what she'd seen; rivers of blood, the bandit camp, flying through the air... her words had been muddled and rushed, and despite his efforts to calm her down, even more time had passed before she could talk normally. And by then it was paining her to remember, so he pushed no further for clarification -- the gist, itself, had been enough.

She glanced over to him and he hastily looked away. Within moments he could feel her presence beside him -- she was almost as quiet as Imoen when she wanted to be, though her clumsiness was far greater on occasion. He offered a small nod and walked on briskly, watching as Imoen's nimble fingers worked the straps of Tiax's backpack loose.

"I wanted to thank you for this morning," she said lightly. "For being, there, I mean -- though sometimes it feels like I say nothing but 'thank you' or 'sorry' to you."

He smiled wanly. "It has helped me to realise that your nightmares do not relent. You are not alone in this, although mine hardly compare. I have seen you dissolve to dust before my eyes whenever I have taken to sleep since we met, and there seems to be no escape from it. That is why reverie is such a welcome escape -- and sharing yours was... delightful."

She smiled back at him, but he could see some worry in her eyes. He wished he'd not mentioned his own visions. "I thought it would be boring, if you want me to be completely honest. Visitors were only occasional, and our lives were dominated mainly by routine." She sighed slightly.

"I notice you found plenty of times to, ah, apply your combined skills in the field of problem-solving. Or rather, problem-creating..."

She grinned at him. "Well, we were young! We _are_ young!" She fell silent and they walked on for a bit before she spoke again. "Do I always turn to dust?"

"Always," he replied. "The situations differ, the companions, backgrounds... never the same. But you melt before my eyes, into golden dust that just disperses in the wind." He saw her shudder slightly and he instantly regretted telling her.

"It was when I started having the nightmares that I started finding out I could do those... things," she said quietly. She wasn't looking at him, her green eyes looking around them as they left the forest and wandered out onto the open road, not far from Nashkel. A river snaked as long beside them at this point, its banks covered in a variety of wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. "And again, this morning... when you woke me up, I felt different. Something else has changed, but I don't know what it is."

He swallowed hard. "If your nightmares are indeed the source of your eerie powers, they might give you the key to who you are," he said thoughtfully. "However, this way is too drastic and damaging. I do not know which is worse; shrinking from this path or embracing it." He regarded her for a moment. "Tell me about these... abilities. How do you know what you can do?"

She shrugged helplessly and sighed. "I don't. I mean, I know there is something, but I have no idea what it is unless... unless I try it. I only found out that I could heal myself a little when I tried, in desperation, to make myself feel better."

"You don't know what else you can do?"

She shook her head. "It feels... it felt wrong -- unnatural, to have them. But when I realised that I had something so good in me..." She smiled slightly. "Well, having the power to help someone with curative blessings; that's not a _bad_ thing, is it?"

"If it were truly a blessing, I'd say it wasn't, no," he sighed. "But you know you are not a cleric, and despite your fanatical devotion to your dubious choice of God, I doubt She has decided to randomly gift you."

She nodded her assent dourly. "I guess you're right. But it makes it harder for me, really. If it was just nightmares, I could cope -- but there's the fear that I'll change whenever I fall asleep and have a bad dream; and even though you showed me how to reverie, I feel the lull of sleep so _strongly_ sometimes... I just don't have the willpower to fight it."

He wanted to reach out and pat her on the shoulder, but it felt too impersonal after everything. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around her, but that... that felt _too_ intimate. Instead, he sighed. "I can help, albeit a little," he offered. "Erecting a mental shield against your nightmares is beyond my current skill, but you may share my reverie from now on... if you want. Perhaps it will stop both of our dark visions. Or perhaps it will doom us together."

She smiled to him and he could see her shyness. A warmth started inside; a small glow that threatened to expand out of control and consume him, and so he forced himself to look to the road ahead. His heart began to sink.

"I'd like that," he heard her say. Even that wasn't enough to replace the feeling of gloom that was rapidly descending upon him. He could only hope it was a vision, a bad dream -- but the image was soon backed up with a voice, and he felt himself groaning, only just resisting the urge he developed that made him want to slap his hand to his forehead.

"By Helm! Travellers, if I am not mistaken! What brings you out to these dangerous roads in such a time?"

There was a crash as Tiax's pack slipped to the ground, and the gnome span around in temper, his narrowed eyes peering at the rest of the companions. "Tiax knows who it was!" he screamed, waggling his finger at all of them in turn. "And when Tiax sits high upon his throne, ruling all, you will be the first taken to the torture chambers for Tiax's amusement!"

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Ajantis was seeking to become a paladin, he'd said, as they travelled the last few miles to Nashkel together. Nuila had immediately invited him into her group, and despite his rather worried questioning of Tiax's sanity, he'd accepted the offer with a smile. Xan had grit his teeth somewhat and moped at the back as they continued on their way, her voice drifting back to him as she introduced herself in greater detail and listened to what appeared to be his whole life story.

He was tall for a human, towering over the girl, and making her look extremely slight and delicate as he stomped along in his plate armour. He never seemed to stop smiling -- even when Tiax started on one of his all too frequent tirades, Ajantis wore a smile on his lips, though his eyes were beginning to betray the confused expression so many adopted when faced with the gnome. Both Imoen and Branwen had crowded around him too, leaving Garrick alone and glaring daggers at the squire's back when he wasn't looking. Xan hated feeling like he had something in common with the bard.

When they arrived at the inn, he persuaded Nuila and the other girls to hand over their packs, taking them upstairs to the dormitory they were all to share. Xan was not highly comfortable with this arrangement, but at least it meant that he could keep an eye on the newcomer's intentions and not spend each night wondering what might be happening through the thin walls of the establishment. Though that was unlikely anyway, and he was being foolish; Nuila had already asked if he'd meant what he said regarding the shared reverie, and she'd appeared delighted when he affirmed his offer. He wondered if she meant for them to partake in it while the others lay around them in such close proximity, snoring.

Downstairs, Imoen had kept a seat for Ajantis, and Xan bristled slightly at the sight of him being flanked by the two pseudo-sisters. Branwen wasn't far away, all three females cooing over the aspiring knight, with his boyish charm and youthful good looks. He mentally compared himself to the human; excluding the obvious gulfs that lay between them due to the difference in race, he felt old. Old and tired, haggard and worn. It was no real surprise that the girls were showing such excitement in their new 'friend' -- the only other young man they'd met had been Garrick, and at least they'd shown the sense to steer very clear of his excessively suave intentions.

The sound of laughter was heard often at the table that evening, and well into the night. Nuila seemed to have forgotten her intention to bed down early in order to seek out the bounties available for their claiming, preferring, instead, to while away the time with the latest charming addition to the group. Eventually they decided to turn in; Xan was glad, as he was the only one left there with them, except for Imoen -- and if the young girl had decided to go to bed before them, he would have been left on his own with them. Memories of the night spent with Garrick were quick to spring to his mind, though Ajantis had shown nothing but displays of gentlemanly propriety. Nuila seemed to like this, however, and he felt some hope inside him fade.

But hope of what? All hope was futile, after all... but he couldn't deny what he'd felt growing inside. The attachment that was forming inside was beyond what he'd expect from a friendship; though his own life had not given him very many opportunities to be able to compare. Always solitary, always alone; he'd focussed on his magical arts and studying at the expense of everything else -- _almost_ everything else. But that was not to be thought about, now -- it was the past, and in the past was where it would stay. It was not comparable to now... was it?

His mood was slightly improved as they reached the dormitory and he witnessed Nuila bid Ajantis good night before taking the bed next to Xan's own, pushing it closer before she curled up in it, reaching out to take his hand in her own. She offered him a smile before she relaxed, waiting for him to open up his memories for her sharing once more. With difficulty, he pushed the dark thoughts within aside, praying to Corellon that they'd not surface. Not that night, anyway.

----------

The sun shone down as they trekked through the fields to the west of Nashkel. Any other man may have found himself smiling in quiet contentment; he had three eye catching female companions, Aerdrie Faenya, herself, seemed to be gracing them with fair conditions to travel in, and the previous night of rest had been peaceful and full of warm and loving memories. But Xan saw none of this; instead he saw Tiax, Ajantis and Garrick -- possibly the three people in Faerûn whom he was destined to get along with least -- walking by his side, the gnome and the aspiring paladin sniping at each other whenever the chance arose, and the bard remaining sullenly quiet as he watched the squire with barely concealed jealousy whenever the fighting man paid any attention to one of the females. While this went on, Xan felt an uncomfortably close air around him, full of dust and specks that made him sneeze with unerring frequency. And instead of smiling wistfully about the reverie, Xan spent the miles remembering why he missed Evereska so much.

He was only dragged from his melancholy when he realised he had company. It was pink-hair, bounding along by his side with the barely contained energy that was always so apparent within her. He pondered for a second, torn between a groan and a sigh, before eventually settling on the latter. The groans of dismay were more suited for one of the men.

She threw him a quizzical look and then thrust out a bit of parchment. She had a look of barely concealed pride on her face, which he regarded with a raised eyebrow before letting his eyes drop down to the paper. His next intake of breath was quite sharp with surprise as he accepted the offering. He was silent for a few moments as they continued to walk, his eyes taking in the details of her scripture. For one so unlearned in the art, it was promising.

"It... it shows great potential," he remarked eventually. The smile she gave him seemed to be wider than her actual face.

"Really? I mean, you're not just sayin' that, are ya? 'Cos I worked so hard at it these past few nights, an' I really, really tried -- that bit, there," she pointed to one especially complex rune near the top, "was quite tricky, but I developed this way of holdin' the quill, ya know, with your fingers round like that?" She wrapped her hand around a twig she'd snatched up to demonstrate and he found himself smiling slightly. The eagerness, the excitement -- it had been many years since he'd been in that position, but he could remember it all too well. He nodded to her, letting her continue with her tumbling description of her endeavour to produce the scroll, and he let his eyes drift back over the parchment. Yes, with some tuition, the girl could show some promise as a spellcaster.

And she would only get herself killed if she tried to learn alone. No, there was no way around it -- he was doomed to teaching her. It would be unthinkable to let such passion about the Art dwindle due to disinterest, and while the bard knew the meaning of many of the magical runes dotted around, his actual magical capability was... slight, to say the least. Xan rolled up the parchment, flinching slightly as Imoen took his arm as she skipped along, still babbling non-stop about how much fun it was going to be when she learnt 'proper stuff'. It was at that point he reconsidered his earlier choice, the sheer liveliness of the girl proving to be tiring just to watch; with barely a second thought, he groaned.

----------

It wasn't long before they realised that none of them were very skilled when it came to tracking in the wilderness. They'd been searching for their quarry, Commander Brage, for the whole day before they decided to set up camp, hoping that a fresh start in the morning would lead them to his location. Branwen was cooking, almost reminding Xan of an old witching crone as she leaned over the bubbling pot, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the scent coming from the cooking meat. Imoen was sitting to one side, pouring over her new spellbook. Xan had given it to her earlier since she seemed to be determined to learn the use of magic properly. It was one he'd had as an apprentice -- quite basic, but with enough knowledge inside to do the young girl for now. When he'd decided to refine his talents to the speciality of that of an enchanter, he'd taken up the use of a new book, effectively discarding his first book to the side, complete with spells he no longer wished to work with. Why he still had it with him after all these years, he'd never know; but at least it was proving to have some sort of use now.

To his annoyance, Tiax was fluttering about, trying to persuade Imoen to learn certain spells in the name of Cyric. To the elf's relief, she seemed to be mainly ignoring him, swatting at him with her hand whenever he got too close and ignoring his outraged outbursts. As if the poor girl didn't have enough on her plate, Garrick was sitting across the fire from her, softly strumming his mandolin as he gently sung some sickeningly sugary descriptions about the young thief. Somehow, she completely ignored him.

To his other side sat his remaining two companions. Nuila and Ajantis were in conversation once again, the smiling young squire seemingly unable to leave their charming leader alone. Xan had listened to Ajantis describe the sights of his home city, Waterdeep, to the wide-eyed girl, while idly shaking his head and sighing. He'd seen the human settlement himself; it didn't deserve half the praise that the foolish young man heaped upon it. Corruption and poverty were just as apparent in the city as the 'majesty' and 'beauty' that the Waterdhavian rambled on and on about incessantly, but Nuila seemed to be hanging onto his every word. He sighed. As if on cue, she looked over to him and gave him a curious glance.

"Have you been to Waterdeep, Xan?"

He groaned internally. "Yes, many years ago," he replied cautiously.

Ajantis beamed at him. "Is it not a resplended city, my friend?" he asked; well, more announced, his booming voice sounding twice as loud as the quiet elven tones.

"It is... pleasing to many who have travelled there," Xan offered, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The human frowned slightly and scratched at his smooth chin. The enchanter knew it was a sign of his youth; not even enough years in him to have a blooming display of stubble, it seemed -- even if it was unsightly to see such untamed growth.

"You almost sound as if you were not impressed by the sights on offer," Ajantis said, following it up with a nervous laugh as he looked over at Xan. Even Nuila's smile seemed tense.

Xan forced himself to maintain a pleasant demeanour. "There were certainly some wondrous aspects of human architecture," he managed to say. This didn't seem to appease the squire at all. "And, ah, it is not called the City of Splendours for nothing, no?"

"Certainly not," Ajantis replied, somewhat stiffly. "It is the greatest city in all Faerûn, a beacon of light in the depravity of some other settlements that come to mind!" He turned his attention back to Nuila, softening slightly in his manner. "You would have to see it for yourself, my lady, to appreciate its magnificence."

She nodded to him, seemingly entranced by his words; but her next move caught even Xan off-guard. "How does it compare to Evereska?" she asked the enchanter simply.

The mage tensed; how could he possibly compare the two? Certainly, for a human settlement, Waterdeep had a crude elegance to a certain degree... but it could not be likened to the verdant meadows of his home -- the flowered terraces, golden spires... the sound of singing hanging in the air. No... It was impossible. "It is human," was his eventual reply, a mournful sigh summing up his conclusion. Nuila nodded, a tinge of sadness on her face.

Ajantis had reddened slightly in colour. "You say that as if it is a bad thing," he muttered darkly. "I am sure your elven cities are pleasing to the eye, but do not dismiss such an exquisite city as Waterdeep simply because it was built by non-elves."

"I would not dream of it," the enchanter replied, suddenly tired of the whole conversation. "Everyone has, ah, different tastes, after all." Slowly he rose, bowing slightly to them and declining Branwen's offer of food. "Excuse me," he said, wandering away and over towards his bedroll in order to have some peace and quiet to himself. As he settled down, determined to study his spellbook for the day ahead, he gave one last glance over to his elven leader. She was back in conversation with the young squire; but this time she appeared to be the one doing the talking, no doubt describing Candlekeep for his benefit -- and this time he was the one listening, seemingly fascinated by her words.

He sighed, then made himself slowly turn away, trying to block out the world around him as he delved into the one thing he knew and understood; magical lore.


	12. Lessons Learnt

**Author's Note: **Many thanks to Inconspicuous Acuity for pointing out something to me, which in turn only served to give me some ideas that I might use later on (assuming I remember about them...!) And lots more thanks to Kulyok, for graciously reading over this when it just wasn't flowing and pointing out the bits that were needing some work :D

**----------**

_I stand in front of you_

_I'll take the force of the blow_

_Protection_

_You're a boy and I'm a girl_

_But you know you can lean on me_

_And I don't have no fear_

_I'll take on any man here_

_Who says that's not the way it should be_

_-- Massive Attack, Protection_

**----------**

"You there, is your name Nuila?" She was a tall figure dressed in a blue robe and cloak, and around her head was a simple silver circlet, holding her black hair away from her face. Xan sighed at the sight of her and her three armoured and mean looking companions. Their hunt for Commander Brage was being far from successful -- indeed, instead of finding the insane former Guard Captain, the group had only managed to find a talking chicken, which was now sitting in Imoen's backpack, its head peeking out slightly as it squawked in fear. It was hardly the tale of heroes.

Nuila was glaring at the woman who had addressed her, obviously contemplating her reply. He wondered at their knowledge of his leader's name; his instinct suggested that they were more assassins -- logically, there could be no other explanation. So carefully and quietly he watched the tense scene unfold, trying to have some hope that he was sorely mistaken with what he'd assumed.

The woman tutted, and he slowly pulled out a small vial of oak sap, quite glad that they seemed to be completely uncaring about his very presence. "Hurry up and answer... and it had better be the truth, for your life depends upon it." He'd been right in his guess, it seemed, and the feeling of the bottle's cap coming loose in his fingers did not bring him any relief. The four women looked highly competent.

"Tiax must demand to know why you are so interested in this elf, when the Mighty Tiax himself stands before you!" Xan groaned. "When Tiax rules all, he will forgive you this indiscretion if you forget your interest in this Nuila, and throw yourselves at his feet now, promising to serve his needs for the rest of the day!"

One of the women -- dressed in simple leathers with a mottled cloak, her hood up and shrouding most of her face in shadow -- pulled free an arrow from the quiver slung across her back and lined up her shot. The original speaker smiled cruelly but held up a hand, staying her companion's shot. "Telka's sense of humour is... quite refined. Her patience is almost as limited as mine."

Nuila was shaking her head slowly at Ajantis. The squire had been about to draw his sword when the monk caught sight, stopping him before he could do anything rash, much to Xan's relief. The enchanter was not willing to die due to the hot-headed reaction of some barely pubescent boy.

"Look, Maniera," the woman cooed, noticing the elven girl's slight move. "She is the one telling them what to do... that would make her the leader, wouldn't you agree?"

The other hooded figure nodded her agreement. Unlike her companions, she was dressed in a myriad of green tones, making her appear like a tree going through the seasons. "She fits the description, Lamalha. Surely it is better to be safe than sorry?"

"I have to agree," replied Lamalha serenely, pulling a rather vicious-looking flail free from a belt under her robes. "Zeela -- begin!"

The fourth figure had been hanging back slightly from the others, but upon the woman's words she instantly began murmuring the words to some incantation. An eerie white glow enveloped her before rippling out, away from her being, and striking Nuila and her companions, momentarily blinding some of them. Xan managed to shake the effects, then noted with dismay what had happened: Garrick was lying limply on the ground, stunned from the priest spell, though thankfully everyone else seemed to only be slightly disorientated. Quickly, the enchanter snapped open the vial in his hands and began murmuring.

Nuila had leapt forward, her dusters connecting with Telka's temple, knocking the girl to the ground. Telka had already managed to get off an arrow, however, which had struck Branwen in the arm and was causing the priestess to scream in agony, too busy writhing in pain to be able to reach out to Tempus it seemed. Xan wondered what the hunters had done to the arrows to make them have such a powerful effect.

Ajantis was swinging his sword at the opposing leader, using his shield to protect him from her flail. Then, suddenly, he dropped to the ground, almost as if he was asleep. The small glint of yellow light that spiralled around him dismayed Xan -- how many of these women were in the service of dark Gods?

Eventually he reached the final part of his casting. There was no sign of pink-hair, to his dismay; he had partly hoped that she would have something up her sleeve right now, but realised that he was probably being overly harsh. She was still, after all, barely an apprentice. The last word passed from his lips, and the globe of magic spun from his fingertips, launching itself through the air towards his intended target. Branwen was charging into the fight; Tiax had proven his worth, managing to administer some healing to the priestess while carefully skirting around the area of open hostility. To Xan's dismay, the women spellcasters had not been dallying -- simultaneously, both finished their own prayers, unleashing their respective effects against the group.

Another white ripple coursed across Nuila and Branwen, and Xan was terrified to see the elven girl stumble, her body seeming to go limp, her balance failing. But then, she seemed to regain control of herself, fighting the effects as she ducked Maniera's sword, pulling away from the fight to compose herself.

The other spell caused the air to ripple, and Imoen appeared as if from nowhere, dagger in hand. Without any warning, the girl forced it into Zeela's back, causing the woman to scream in pain as she fell to her knees. With a cry of fury, Telka scrambled to her feet, recovered from Nuila's attack, drawing her own weapon free from her scabbard as she closed in on the young thief.

Xan's spell hit her just before she made her first lunge, and he instantly felt her weak will fighting against him. It was no match for his experience with emotions, though, and he easily pulled her away from her attack, forcing the woman to obey his will as he instructed her to turn and strike at the blue-robed woman to her side. Lamalha shrieked in surprise as her ally's sword cut through her flesh, quickly moving herself away from the battle and leaving the possessed woman facing the advancing Nuila, as Branwen distracted Maniera.

"Nuila, no!" he cried, desperately trying to hold his control over the woman and communicate with his leader at the same time. It wasn't easy -- his spell required his full concentration, but he found it hard to focus himself on the continued bond while Nuila was in the midst of the battle. The elven girl tensed at his words, letting her eyes flicker away from Telka only briefly to rest on him. Then with a slight nod, she turned, pursuing Lamalha as the woman darted towards the fallen Ajantis, her flail raised high.

He felt beads of sweat forming on his brow as he continued to try and guide the woman into attacking Maniera, Branwen looking slightly surprised to have such a surprising aid in the battle. As the blows were exchanged, it became harder and harder for him to keep a hold of the girl; she became stronger inside as his wavering attention continually tried to drift towards Nuila. Eventually Telka managed to push his influence from her head, snarling viciously as she feinted the blow she'd had aimed at her companion, swinging it lower and wider than he would have imagined possible, and catching Branwen nastily on the shoulder.

His fingers were trembling as he searched for his pouch of ground batwing, momentarily distracted from the battle by the sudden break in his attachment that left his senses reeling somewhat. Only one of the women had fallen, felled by Imoen's dagger, while the other three were still proving to be strong and resilient. Nuila's scream drew his eyes back up, looking over to the skirmish that seemed to be a million miles away, watching as the ground beneath the monk's feet literally exploded.

She was thrown back as debris showered down around them; the glyph of warding exploding with such ferocity upon her contact that it caused a deep hole to form, taking them all by surprise. Lightning flashed through the air, hitting those nearest as Xan could only watch with horror. Branwen was knocked to the ground, but dragged herself back to her feet to get to Maniera, clubbing the slightly dazed woman ferociously before turning to defend herself from Telka's advance.

Lamalha was almost at Nuila by the time he began his spell, and he felt his heart sinking -- he had no chance of finishing his conjuration before the woman struck the prone elven girl's body, but he began the murmuring regardless, willing himself to speak the words faster than he ever had before. The monk raised a shaky finger at her attacker, and Lamalha yelped in pain as a mass of red energy seemed to swirl out from her and soak into Nuila's body.

The flail was raised and Lamalha's body was tensed, poised for the strike... but before she could bring her weapon down on Nuila's skull, a solitary pink missile skipped through the air, knocking into her with deceptive force. It was enough to unbalance her, and gave Xan enough time to finish his spell. The acid arrow sank into the woman's flesh, making her shout in pain; but her shouting ended abruptly when Ajantis' sword suddenly plunged into her chest.

The squire wasted no time in leaping away to Branwen's aid -- the priestess having fought off Telka wearily, only to be faced with Maniera's last stand; one that was ended by Ajantis, shortly before his sword found the heart of the final assassin to stand. It felt as if hours had passed, but Xan was sure the fight had only lasted minutes from beginning to end, despite the injuries they'd managed to amass and the devastation that had caused the ground to become rent.

Slowly, and one by one, his companions began to find their wits, regain their composure, and sort themselves out. He moved over to Imoen, patting her shoulder as she stood watching the scene, dumbstruck. Her first spell, he noted proudly to himself. Not one he himself would have chosen -- Evocation was a fairly simple branch of the Art, though, and it made sense that she would have more success with a simple cantrip like that than a more masterful spell from the school of Enchantment. Nonetheless, he offered her a solemn nod before looking back to the carnage strewn around them. The girl _did_ have some talent, after all.

Ajantis was helping Branwen to her feet, hoisting the priestess up with gallant ease. Neither of them looked too badly injured. Branwen immediately started tending the wound on her shoulder as the paladin added his own holy healing capability to the mix, much to her obvious appreciation and gratitude. He looked away awkwardly as she thanked him, flushing from her kind words; but the priestess barely seemed to notice his bashful fidgeting as she checked herself over. When he was satisfied that she was relatively well healed, he took himself over towards Nuila and Garrick. Xan found himself drumming his fingers on his moonblade's hilt.

Tiax was kneeling beside Nuila and Garrick's sides. The bard was offering Nuila a weak smile, despite the cuts and bruises covering his face and hands from debris of the explosion. He had been the closest person to the detonation, excluding Nuila who had been moving so quickly that she'd managed to escape the worst of the blast, unlike the prone Garrick. He looked a mess, and to Xan's dismay, the elven girl's eyes were closed, the eerie glow coming from her hands again as she touched his injuries. He didn't know what was worse: seeing her use such unnatural abilities, even though she knew how he felt about them, or seeing her wasting them on the young human boy. But, perhaps that was the least of his worries, now... the enchanter knew he would find it difficult to forget the eerie red glow that she seemed to have commanded in the battle, appearing to drain her victim's life force for the sake of her own. He was aware of spells that could perform like this, but she had no magical ability. It only served to frighten him.

"Wow."

Imoen seemed to be completely oblivious to all that had happened, not even showing any desire to check through the bodies lying strewn around in the grass. Xan raised an eyebrow at her, waiting to see if she wished to further expand on her thoughts.

"...wow."

He sighed heavily. Tiax had tended the bard as much as he obviously deemed fit, and had moved to loot what possessions he could find after seeing that Imoen was... well, preoccupied. The enchanter could only hope that he wouldn't find anything _too_ dangerous lying around, and that if he did, someone would manage to wrestle it from him before he managed to kill them all.

"Did you _see_ that?"

"Yes, Imoen, I saw it. It was quite well done for someone so unlearned, though next time I would have a slight suggestion to improve your casting."

She shook her head, almost as if trying to return to the present time, and she gave him a vaguely curious look. "Oh? Whassat?"

He smiled wryly. "After you've cast your spell, it's generally beneficial to your health if you manage to do more than just stand there with a slightly woolly expression." He knew she was staring indignantly at him as he moved away, so he allowed himself a small smile. He carefully made his way closer to the others, where the bard had been giving Nuila a brave-looking smile; but when she looked over to nod to Xan, Garrick's smile turned into a scowl -- only for a split-second, however. Xan noted with some amusement how his pained expression returned as soon as Nuila's attention was focussed back on him.

"I am sure Ajantis will be able to offer you some support," she said softly to him, "as well as Branwen and I, whenever possible. If your injuries are so bad, I would be inclined to think we should return to Nashkel to ensure you receive proper care and attention at the temple, before we continue our search for Commander Brage."

Xan raised an eyebrow. "Our songster has been badly wounded?"

Nuila nodded to him solemnly as Ajantis continued to gently offer up prayers to Helm, channelling his limited healing powers into tending the monk's own rapidly healing cuts and bruises. "A day or two resting at the temple should provide him with enough curative therapy to lift the pain he feels, and we are no closer to finding our quarry than we were when we started off. It will give us a chance to regroup and set out again, with new supplies."

"Well," Garrick said hurriedly, "I'm sure it's not that bad -- I should think- ARGH!"

"Tiax!" Nuila had stood up abruptly, spinning around to glare at the gnome. He shrugged innocently at her.

"Tiax wished to see if the tuneless bard really was injured or not, so decided to test his mettle. When Tiax rules all, any feigning of injury to avoid Tiax-worship shall be punished most heavily!"

"I'm still sure there was no need to kick him... well, there," continued Nuila sternly; looking back down to Garrick who had tears breaking through his tightly squeezed shut eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I've... been better," the bard squeaked in response. Xan had to put his hand over his mouth, for fear of his smile being seen by the monk girl. As it was, she seemed to be too preoccupied with Tiax's methods of determining injury.

"You can't go around hurting people like that," she chided. Tiax just snorted at her, then darted off to argue with Imoen about a coin pouch she'd found on Telka's body.

Nuila sighed and shook her head. She didn't look terribly unhappy though -- more bemused, Xan noted. "Ajantis?"

"Yes, my lady?" The squire answered instantly, causing Xan to feel more than slightly irritated. The human was so obvious with his desire to please the elven girl.

"Can you help me to support Garrick? We'll head back to Nashkel now, and take a room in the inn for this evening." She grinned slightly as she heaved the bard to his feet, looking over at the rest of her group. "Perhaps tomorrow we'll have _slightly_ more success..."

Xan followed quietly as they slowly set off back along the path that wound its way through the hills and valleys. They rested frequently, Nuila taking turns with Branwen and Ajantis to support the seemingly infirm Garrick as he limped along pathetically, almost always leaning more on the woman supporting him than the squire. Now and then, Tiax would sneak up behind them, jabbing his finger rather ferociously into some of Garrick's lesser wounds and causing the bard to whimper weakly until Nuila rebuked him and chased him away.

"When Tiax sits high on his throne, he shall remember the songs you sang, minion, and Tiax shall demand your repentance through a thousand verses dedicated to Tiax's virility!" the gnome called towards the bard. It was almost enough for Xan to have some sympathy for the young human... but not quite.

----------

Xan was not surprised to see Imoen pouring over her spellbook that night, having finally drained him of any enthusiasm he had for teaching her within a half-hour of their arrival at the Nashkel Inn. He had to admire her determination though, if nothing else, but he was also beginning to wish there was another mage within the group who would be happy to share at least some of the responsibility for the girl -- she was insatiable with her thirst for knowledge.

Garrick had been taken to the clerics at the Temple of Helm, and, much to his horror, left there to be tended. Xan still could not decide if the bard really _was_ badly injured, or not -- the sympathy he was getting from Nuila obviously made the whole prospect of trying to 'brave' the pain attractive, but the thought of being confined with the uptight acolytes in the backwater town was... well, Xan could understand why it could be viewed with displeasure, to a degree. While not nearly as horrifying as being trapped in the town's mine, it would involve a prolonged absence form the group... from some _people_ in the group.

The bard seemed to share this sentiment, begging them to allow him to hobble after them and aid their continued search for the errant commander the next day; but Xan was quietly pleased to note that Nuila was having none of it -- firmly leading Garrick back to the bed that had been made up for him and insisting that they'd return to see how he was in a few days. Xan was sure to send one final smile to the bard as they exited the temple to return to the inn, though it took all the control he could muster to ensure it was not overly smug.

Ajantis and Branwen had wholly agreed with the decision to leave Garrick in the hands of the priests of Helm, allowing their limited healing powers to be more available for any further battles they became embroiled in, rather than tending the bard's seemingly endless list of ailments. They were now they were sitting side by side at the table, slightly away from the others as they conversed in low tones. The enchanter couldn't help but notice that the holy man's gaze flickered over to Nuila more than occasionally, though both the priestess, recounting her whole life story, and the elven girl in question seemed completely unaware.

Instead, Nuila was drumming her fingers on the table, having had an exchange with Tiax. She had taken quite a bit of objection to his sudden declaration that Imoen's increased knowledge would be used to utilise Tiax's ascension to rule all. This effectively meant, in the gnome's opinion, that he -- and only he -- would be involved in determining what path the girl would take, despite having no real knowledge of the Art himself. Nuila had pointed this out, causing him to leap from his seat as he pointed a bony finger at her.

"Infidel!" he shrieked. "Heathen! Tiax knows you stand against his rightful place in these lands, and when Tiax rules all you will have no choice but to serve as his personal nose-hair trimmer!" Several of the inn's patrons had paused in their drinks to look over to the scene, and even Branwen had paused in her incessant tales of her childhood to see what had bothered the gnome now.

"You'd let me near your precious nose?" Nuila remarked with a grin. "Truly, I feel most honoured."

"No!" Tiax shrieked in frustration. "Tiax will not let someone like you near his most glorious appendage!"

Imoen had then choked on her drink, having only caught that one line, and being completely oblivious to what was being discussed. The gnome had stomped off upstairs to his room, shrieking and yelling about the things he'd do to them when Cyric's time came, ignoring Nuila's attempted apology for offending him. She let out a sigh and sat back down across from Xan as Branwen launched back into her one-sided conversation with Ajantis.

"Maybe he should go," she suddenly announced, frowning slightly.

"Now?" he asked. "After today? Do I need to remind you how close we came to dying miserably out there?" She snorted, but he knew she'd taken his point on board. "Although some of your choices regarding suitable companions have been... dare I say, _questionable_, to say the least," he continued, "I do think that you need all the help you can get."

"Hmm. Perhaps."

"And I cannot say that I've noticed any signs, until now, that you objected to his travelling with us." Xan watched her carefully as she spoke. She was fidgeting with her dusters, a slight frown on her face. "Is this because of his sudden interest in Imoen?"

She gave him a surprised look, then looked momentarily confused. "No... well..." She sighed heavily. "I don't know. Until now he's just been... there, you know? But he was quite cruel to Garrick earlier, and I don't want him influencing Imoen any more than can be helped."

"I am sure Garrick is in good hands now," Xan noted, "and Imoen is quite capable of looking out for herself. I do not see her being as easily led as you seem to fear."

"No, perhaps not. It is good that she has you teaching her." She smiled at him, full of warmth. "I appreciate all the help you've been giving us -- it's much more than I ever expected."

"It will prove to be futile," he replied with a slight shrug. "No matter if you lessen our number or not, given a tenday there is a very good chance that I will be digging a shallow grave for you, somewhere in the wilderness. Assuming, of course, that I somehow manage to outlive you -- but considering I'm not foolish enough to charge headfirst into battle, it may very well happen."

"We're not going to die," she replied.

"We all die, sooner or later. Knowing our luck, it will be sooner." He met her eyes, his face solemn. She seemed to notice this, her own small smile fading as her expression changed into one that almost resembled sorrow. "Please, Nuila... for the safety of us all, if nothing else -- please consider carefully before you ask anyone to leave your group. Think back to today and how it could have been different if any one of us had been absent."

She nodded, but soon enough a wry grin had formed on her face again. "Except Garrick, then," she pointed out.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, and she hastily apologised, clearing her through slightly before she continued.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you insisting Tiax stay with us," she said, almost teasingly. Her eyes were twinkling as she continued in a mutter. "Or Garrick and Ajantis, for that matter." Her tone was innocent -- almost too innocent. He quickly looked over towards the others; Imoen was still engrossed in her studies, and Branwen had somehow managed to actually capture Ajantis' attention by discussing religion with him. Their debate looked like it could become quite heated.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh," she replied airily, "just that sometimes things have seemed strained, on occasion, between you all. Well, especially yourself and Garrick, I noticed -- and more recently Ajantis. And Tiax's people skills... well, I just thought there were some... clashes of personalities."

He raised his eyebrow in what he hoped was a show of seemingly genuine mystification regarding her point, but her look was knowing and he shifted uncomfortably, mentally berating himself for so obviously giving himself away. She smiled.

"I might be wrong," she continued. "I didn't really get the chance to be around people much in Candlekeep, so forgive me if I'm completely wrong. I do want everyone to be happy together, though -- or as happy as is possible. I wouldn't like to think that there are some undercurrents of ill-feeling anywhere." She paused, and he wondered if she was giving him the opportunity to speak and make his case, or if she was simply searching for her own words to continue. "I'm sure we could cope without anyone who didn't fit in," she said quietly, her eyes seeming to bore into him as her gaze remained relentless. "Would you really be so worried about us having one person less?"

"We will already be without Garrick," he pointed out. "It would be foolish to consider weakening ourselves further, needlessly, when we know we will only be heading out to face stronger foes." _And_, he noted to himself, _what if one person meant the difference between you becoming injured or not?_ The battle that day had scared him; stumbling across such competent foes -- not mere gibberlings or gnolls -- and witnessing the disarray they'd inflicted on the already haphazard group had brought to the fore some of the feelings he'd been desperately trying to bury. The fact that he cared, very much, about Nuila's safety -- about her continued existence. If these were improved by travelling with Ajantis and Garrick and Tiax, then... then it was a small price to pay for his own peace of mind regarding her well-being.

She was nodding thoughtfully, seemingly appeased by his words. "You would tell me if there was anything you thought I should know, though... wouldn't you?" He looked at her quizzically, and she smiled. "I mean, if you stop enjoying our company, if you find it more a chore to be with us..." Her voice trailed off.

He wondered what had triggered that -- fear of being left alone, again? She'd lost her father figure, and had only the girl she saw as a sister still with her. She'd allowed one personality difference to come between her and her father's friends, and seemed distressed to think it would happen again -- but this time between him and another of their companions. Was his presence so important to her?

He sighed. "Yes," he said eventually. He noticed the look of relief cross her face. "Yes, I would tell you." And should he tell her, now? How the day had reminded him of feelings he thought long buried away; how he could travel with _anyone_ in her company, as long as he was comfortable with the relationship he had with her... the emotional attachment he'd been unable to fight from developing... "Nuila, I..."

He was interrupted at that point by Imoen; the young girl having stumbled across some of his older spells that she couldn't follow on her own, her voice calling out to him completely oblivious to the fact he was already in conversation with the elven girl. He apologised to Nuila as he rose, offering her a slight and stiff bow before he made his way over to sit at pink-hair's side, settling down beside her as he glimpsed at the book.

She had found a charm spell, but didn't know what some of the more intricate runes meant. He began to explain them to her, informing her that it would be a long time before she could fully understand the power, while trying to stick to as simple language as possible. She listened intently to her lesson in magical theory, but Xan had to concentrate hard on his words, trying to push the previous conversation fully from his thoughts -- and the memory of how his usually firm grasp on his magical abilities had been weakened because of the fear he had for another's safety.

All the time, Xan felt Nuila watching him from a table away; her green eyes never moving from his form as she sat in the wake of his unfinished sentence.


	13. Hard Decisions

**Author's Note:** I'm not sure about the end of this chapter -- the discussion between Nuila and Xan is meant to be slightly confusing, but still to make _some_ sense... so if anyone has any thoughts or suggestions on it, I'd be happy to hear them! And, of course, on anything else too -- the pace, the style... whatever:D

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_I'm here, so please explain_

_Why you're opening up a healing wound again_

_I'm a little more careful, perhaps it shows_

_But if I lose the highs at least I'm spared the lows_

_-- Will Young, Leave Right Now_

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That morning, for the first time in many years, Xan didn't know how he would describe his mood. The small amount of happiness he'd allowed to creep into his life seemed to be constantly washed away by the everyday occurrences that the party faced. After leaving Garrick behind in Nashkel, the group had gone back out to the wilderness to find Commander Brage. What Xan _hadn't_ been able to leave behind was the lingering presence of Nuila's eyes on him.

She'd not asked him what he was going to say, though the following breakfast had been an uncomfortable affair. He'd caught her giving him a questioning look on several occasions as the others chattered around them, and then... then she seemed to give up on any hope of him continuing where he'd left off, preferring, instead, to converse with Ajantis about their task.

The paladin had led the way, with her by his side, as they marched through forest, along a valley and over the brow of a small hill. And then they'd found him; Commander Brage. He'd been like a man possessed -- quite literally, Xan had discovered, later. The sword he'd been given by a mysterious figure shortly before he murdered his family was under a strong curse, and only when Ajantis' own weapon cleaved the commander's hand clean from his arm was he able to let go of his grasp on it. The mist had lifted from his eyes almost instantly, and he fell to his knees, weeping for his sins.

His cousin, a scared looking woman, emerged from the caravan that he had wrought his latest destruction upon, and pleaded with them to take him to the Temple of Helm for forgiveness, rather than delivering him to the hands of the Amnish Guard. Ajantis and Nuila had held a hushed conversation, excluding all the others until Branwen marched up and demanded to know what was being decided.

From there it degenerated, more or less into a petty squabble. Ajantis was siding with the woman, insistent that Helm would be the wiser option -- for the man to atone, for the All Seeing Eye to cast his judgement on the unfortunate happenings. Branwen had snorted while Nuila argued; Brage had murdered in cold blood and was due to face his punishment. All the time, the man sat weeping and rocking with his cousin holding him close, in tears herself.

It was only when Imoen had stepped in, reminding them that some agreement had to be found and something had to be done, that they stopped bickering. Nuila had looked abashed when she looked over to the fallen man, then quickly composed herself. She did a quick sweep of opinions, asking what her companions wished to do. Ajantis was resolute with returning to Helm, Branwen was stubbornly on the side of the Amnish Guard. Tiax just wanted to kill both of the cousins, there and then, in the name of Cyric; and so Nuila seemed to disregard his voice in this matter. Imoen was undecided, though she eventually sided with Ajantis, preferring the idea that Brage might be allowed to live and repent now that he was free from the curse.

And then Nuila's eyes had fallen to him.

"Xan?"

He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Time stopped, the eyes of his companions and two innocents fixed to him. By agreeing with Ajantis, he would solve the issue. By agreeing with Branwen, he would leave the casting vote to Nuila. But no... he must not think of it that way. He must not.

His eyes had closed at that point, and he'd let out a large, mournful sigh. The man had admitted to them that he had taken the lives of those closest to him, when they were defenceless and trusting him. But he, as a mage, could recognise the malevolent power lingering on the sword that had taken the decision from his hands. Still... Brage had chosen to wield it, trusted a stranger's gift without thinking of the consequences -- consequences his family -- his _children_ -- had paid for instead of him.

Fully responsible or not, their lives had ended due to his actions. Due to his materialism.

It had felt like a lifetime had passed before Xan opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"The decision, ultimately, is yours remember? But if you truly wish my opinion, then... then I think we should return him to the Amnish Guard."

Pandemonium was then unleashed. Ajantis was clamouring for Nuila to accept that Helm's judgement would be sufficient for the garrison; Branwen was roaring her lust for justice to be served, while the cousin wept and screamed for mercy to be shown. Imoen was looking terrified; for the first time, pink-hair looked as she was -- barely enough years in her to pass her from a child to an adult, caught in a situation she'd never imagined. Those who wanted to be adventurers simply didn't fantasise about these scenes. It was all heroics and easy decisions; never the awful reality where the 'right' decision wasn't black and white.

Tiax seemed to be the only one undaunted by it all. He sat, looking quite peaceful for the first time that Xan could remember, witnessing the scene. He seemed to be... enjoying it. _Thriving in the chaos_, the enchanter reflected. It would, after all, have suited his personality quite well.

His gaze had then returned to Nuila. The conflict she felt was obvious for all to see; she was trying to convince Ajantis that she understood his views while denying she was only interested in claiming the bounty. For a while, he wasn't sure if she'd be able to cope with the pressure being placed solely on her shoulders; he expected the tears to come, for her to crumble beneath it all.

To his surprise, she hadn't. Eventually, she'd raised her hand, asked for some kind of quiet. Then... then she'd tried to compromise.

"We return to Nashkel," she said firmly, waving Branwen and Ajantis to walk at either side of Brage while they intently listened to her decision. Imoen had helped his cousin to her feet and was supporting her slightly as she sobbed. "We will report to the Amnish Guard-"

More outraged and raised voices. She'd raised her hand once again, waited patiently for some quiet. "_And then_," she'd said strongly, "we'll recommend that they allow Commander Brage to visit the Temple of Helm while they take some advice from the priests there, regarding the situation with the sword."

Mutterings. Murmurings. Ajantis was slightly appeased by her decision; he couldn't fully stand against it, of course, but he _could_ feel the affront of someone deciding that mere mortals could make a decision over and above his precious God. And Nuila... was she condemning Brage to a fate at the hand of her own Goddess? For surely it would be down to luck as to how the humans took her words; whether they listened to her, or not. He had feared they wouldn't -- he'd served alongside enough human soldiers in various missions to know that their pride was almost unparalleled. To have Nuila -- a little elven girl -- suggest that there may _possibly_ be a better, alternative solution to their problem...

He'd wondered if he should tell her, but in the end she'd marched off resolutely, only pausing to ensure the others were following. The strain was showing on her face, and she looked tired; almost older than she'd appeared only that morning. Would this show her what she was truly letting herself in for? Would this make it clear to her how pointless it all was?

He doubted it.

And, as expected, the Amnish officer who commanded his men to take away the silent Brage, while his cousin fell apart in Imoen's arms, merely nodded politely to Nuila as if she was an enthusiastic child who didn't really _understand_ the world. He assured her that the man would be allowed to the Temple to pray before his trial, but that the Fist would handle the dispensing of justice on the matter. Then, as a bag of gold was pushed into her hands, they were encouraged to leave.

Now the enchanter was lurking in the common room of the Belching Dragon. He didn't even know the tavern existed until Imoen had told him that Nuila had gone off to spend some time on her own, and he'd gone to wander around the settlement in the hope of discovering her. He'd wondered if she'd have gone back through the meadow to the fair, but then he noticed this establishment as he wandered along the bank of the river, and decided to pop his head in.

It was a dingy place, indeed, full of a rowdier element. He'd always wondered why the Nashkel Inn seemed so... well, almost peaceful, compared to most other similar places; and he now realised that the fairly strong presence of the Amnish Guard who regularly drank in it probably helped. There were none of the soldiers in here; only drunk men from the town and the surrounding area, who had noticed Nuila as she entered, and were swarming around her like flies to honey. She was the only female in there, apart from the middle-aged serving woman, who was wearing _far_ too much paint on her face. He sighed heavily, debating for the third time over whether or not he should approach her, or if he should just keep an eye on her safety from a distance.

His dilemma was answered for him soon enough, when one of the younger men drunkenly staggered forward and reached out for a grope. Instantly his hand was on the hilt of his blade and he felt himself marching over, but he wasn't as fast as she was. She'd leapt to her feet in the blink of an eye, her fist drawn back. Before he could shout at her to stop, her fist had connected with the young man's jaw, sending him flying backwards as the unhealthy cracking noise ripped across the sudden silence. The rest of the men shied away, yelling and screaming at her, while the barmaid dashed off to fetch the inn's owner.

He eventually reached her, taking a firm grasp of her arm and instinctively dodging the flailing hand that was aimed at him -- her eyes widened in horror when she noticed it was him that she'd almost struck, but he said nothing, merely tightening his hold and dragging her outside and away from the tavern. He walked briskly upstream, staying close to the river until they eventually reached a quiet spot. Only then did he let her go, and she flopped onto the grass sulkily, watching the flow of the water. With another sigh, he sat down beside her.

"You have a lot to learn," he noted.

"Yes, thank you," she replied stiffly. "_Commander_ Medlan made me quite aware of that fact, earlier."

_So she noticed_, he thought to himself, _that the very man she left Brage's fate to had been quick enough to claim the vacant title._ He smiled ruefully. Such was the way of humans; they would never learn. And she was hopelessly tainted by their ways. He wondered if there'd be any salvation for her.

She started picking some of the flowers dotted around, weaving them expertly in her hands to form chains and posies. He sat in silence, feeling the sun shining down on them as the river bubbled gently as it passed. Under other circumstances it might even have passed as pleasant -- this feeling was destroyed completely when she next spoke.

"What were you going to say, before Imoen called you over?"

He stiffened despite himself; he tried to remain calm and relaxed, but he couldn't help it. He'd been dreading her asking, almost hoping enough time had passed, that enough had happened to cause her to forget. Alas, it appeared that her memory was working fine. He cleared his throat, forcing his muscles to loosen slightly.

"You asked me to tell you if there was anything you thought I should tell you," he said slowly, delaying the question without really meaning to. She nodded, her hands now unmoving as she watched him. His throat was going dry quite rapidly.

"I worry about you," he managed, sighing heavily. "I worry when you head blindly into dangerous situations, when you allow yourself to become the target of our foes. I worry that my worry for _you_ will affect me more than it did when we met those women hunters; it was the closest I've come for... a long time, to forgetting my spells completely. And if I am hopelessly unable to remember even the more basic cantrip, what use could I possibly offer to your group?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled -- a small smile, but it was there, nonetheless. She leaned towards him, taking his hand in her own and pulling it gently towards her lap where she rested it lightly, immediately beginning to entwine flowers around his wrist. He would normally have pulled his hand away; the last thing he wanted was Tiax noticing his floral decoration and making fun of it. But she looked so content, so peaceful; he didn't have the heart to ruin her few serene moments.

When she spoke, her voice was light and soft. "Your presence in the group... well, I already told you that I was glad I had someone other than Imoen to rely on, didn't I? I meant that, you know. Well, I meant _more_ than that, if... if you see what I mean."

Her eyes didn't meet his at all, and he felt himself revelling in the chance to stare at her face while she spoke. So youthful... so naive, really. Her golden hair was hanging loose around her ears where she'd desperately tried to brush it away from her face. There was a slight frown adorning her brow -- the words were apparently coming as difficultly to her as they had to him.

"What... what I'm trying to say is, well, while everyone thinks I'm fairly easy going about who travels with us and who doesn't, I'm… I'm not." She looked at him then; his eyes met hers and they pulled him in, surrounding him with the dulcet tones of her voice. "I can't imagine you not being here now, really. Pretty much like Imoen, but... well, _not_."

"Nuila-"

"No, no -- wait." She bit her lip, her eyes falling back down to his flowery hand. "I know you think I'm foolish to follow Tymora, but I really _do_ think She blesses me with Her luck. In more ways than one..."

He felt his eyebrow raising and she gave him a grin; there was certainly a cheeky glimmer in her eye. "You are hopeless," he sighed. "Your misplaced faith shall see us nowhere but into an early grave, I fear."

"Ah, because I'm doomed?" Her face went completely deadpan.

"I am serious, but it seems you would make fun of everything. Even your own death, given the possibility." He sighed.

"I'm not going to die!" she replied stubbornly. "And you have to believe me, don't you? Because a friend wouldn't lie to you, would she?"

His breath caught, and for a split-second he thought he might suffocate. He stared at her, wondering if he'd heard correctly, while she looked back at him expectantly; was she waiting for an affirmation of the sentiment? He tried to swallow, but his throat was still painfully dry.

"All these years, I have travelled alone; now I have you as my companion and my friend." The words resisted coming, but he closed his eyes, forcing them out. "I am not sure if it is a right thing, however. I have grown attached to you; your safety is above everything for me -- including my duty and my mission... and I fear it might be more than this. I am becoming more and more convinced I have committed a grave mistake."

"A mistake?" He opened his eyes to see her looking at him with worry, before her eyes drifted down to the sword at his side. "What mistake? Is this to do with your blade?"

"Not exactly, though it is hard to exclude it I suppose. Even when I die, my soul will be bound to it for centuries, perhaps longer, as I told you. What possible hope for the future does that give me?"

She snorted, her garland threatening to spread up his arm. He hesitantly and gently disentangled himself before she could find enough spare flowers, and she began to thread her last few into her own robes as she spoke. "You're a capable mage, and you're an elf. You have hundreds of years left to face."

"Nuila, you are so young and naive, you wring my heart. Life is a fragile thing; a stray arrow, a loose brick, a poisoned glass of wine, and you are dead. And I would not want this."

"You are talking about me, and not you."

It wasn't a question. She'd noticed his words, understood his intent. He felt both relieved and terrified. "You have a different fate to me," he noted.

"I will see Arvandor earlier?" she asked. A rueful smile appeared. "Perhaps I should encourage my demise more than you should yours, then."

He frowned. "You are determined to joke at any possible opportunity, aren't you? Do you even realise the seriousness of your situation, I wonder."

"Of course I do!" she replied indignantly. "But why do you bring the subject up now? You have known it all along, haven't you?"

"I have, but... but much has changed. When I call to mind earlier days, I see myself calm and content with my fate. Duty was above all for me then; now it is different."

"Different?"

"Yes, Nuila, different." He sighed with exasperation; he couldn't be sure if she was genuinely missing his meaning, or gently coaxing him to speak in clearer terms. He was searching for the correct words, when Nuila spoke again.

She shrugged. "Well, I appreciate our friendship, regardless." That was it -- such simply spoken words.

It was enough. He stood up, brushing the dust from his robes. "Excuse me."

"Xan?" He heard her questioning tone, heard her scramble to her feet as she followed him. Then he felt the gentle grasp of her hand on his arm as she tried to slow him down, her face creased with puzzlement. "Xan, what-"

"Leave me alone, Nuila."

She pulled back, recoiling as if he'd slapped her. "This... are you all right?"

"All right?" He laughed mirthlessly. "I have never felt better! I am going to die, my city will be lying in ruins within years, my spirit is going to be trapped in a lump of enchanted metal for nearly an eternity -- yes, Nuila, everything is perfect!" He began to walk again, heading to the inn. His only hope was to reach it before she caught up with him again, but it was not to be.

"I don't understand," she protested, slightly behind him. "What brought this on? What _happened_?"

"You asked me to tell you if I ever had anything you needed to know? Well, hear this: I want this torment to end, once and for all." He stopped again, spinning round to look at her. She was staring at him in complete shock. "You don't understand what I am talking about, do you? You have never been abducted and tortured; decades of aimless wandering do not wear you down; you have never loved anyone; you treat this life as an entertaining game. You don't even comprehend the notion of dying."

"Hey now!" she was frowning; he had, apparently, annoyed her. "I have not loved? And how, pray, did you come to this conclusion, mighty enchanter? Are you such a master of emotion that you think you know all there is to know about me? To _assume_ it?"

"If you ever had, you would have... recognised it." He sighed, suddenly weary. "I repeat my request: leave me alone."

"You can't just walk away like this!" she exclaimed, darting around to stand in front of him. "What have I done? What did I _say_ to bring about this sudden change in you?"

"Nothing, Nuila," he answered honestly. "You did nothing. I've had enough of these illusions of safety and power. I am tired from this endless torture of guessing whether we will be alive in the morning, whether I will be able to... no. There is no point in further discussion. Just leave me be."

This time she let him go, and he made his way to the inn quickly, heading straight up to his room. When he reached his bed he sank into the mattress, letting his head fall into his hands. How could he have been so stupid to let the discussion finish that way? How could he have been so stupid to even let himself think... think that it would make things better to explain how he felt.

A tickling sensation reminded him of her flowers, and he gently pulled the decoration from his wrist, being careful to not break it any more than he had to. Then, he lightly placed it on the desk nearby, looking at it for a long time as his mind swirled around.

He'd only managed to make her more confused than ever, and it would be unbearable for him to stay and watch her misery. He'd convinced himself there would be no need to leave, that he would be able to stay and protect her. But not only had he almost failed her by allowing himself to be distracted from his spellcasting, but now he'd caused her to have worries and concerns that she didn't need.

She'd be better without him, wouldn't she?


	14. A Day Off

**Author's Note:** No Nuila this time around... but Xan still has plenty to reflect upon, and we see a little bit more of his developing friendship with Imoen:)

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_All I wanted was the chance to say_

_I would like to see you in the morning._

_Rolling over to have you there,_

_Would make it easy for a little bit longer._

_-- Travis, The Fear_

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They had not shared a reverie the previous night. It hadn't surprised him, really... their conversation had only served to make relations between himself and Nuila confused, at least -- though he would go further and declare them as strained. So when, that morning, she'd head out from the tavern, intending to seek some other villainous criminal wanted by the Amnish Guard, Xan had opted to stay behind. And this had earned him a day with Imoen.

He'd risen before the rest that morning, quietly descending to the common room before dawn broke. He'd been hoping their leader would come down next, and alone -- then he would have tried to explain himself, apologised for his actions perhaps. Tried to wash it away as if it had never happened, even if it meant accepting that there would never be anything more between them. But he was denied even that; she came with the others, all at once, and he received only a muted wish of a good morning from her lips.

And then she'd spoken of her intention, and the lap-dog paladin had barked his eagerness to travel beside her. Branwen had gone after them, without a word, and Tiax had seemed genuinely torn over the company to choose, muttering and complaining about the two poor options. Xan had been glad to discover that his companionship was seen to be that bit worse than Nuila's, though he felt a measure of sympathy for her.

Imoen had initially followed them, before bounding back in, just as he'd been expecting a peaceful day. Perhaps one where he could have quietly packed and taken his leave. Obviously the Seldarine were against this plan -- pink-hair happily explained how she'd bartered a visit to Garrick in the afternoon as a way to buy her freedom from Nuila's determined forays into the lands of seasoned adventurers. That, Imoen explained, meant that he had the whole morning to teach her!

Pink-hair's enthusiasm for learning was almost as great as his own had been. She seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for any knowledge he was prepared to share with her, though quite often her concentration would wander and she would become distracted -- sharing some tale of her past with him, whether he was interested or not. He generally always was, but he was not going to reveal this to her. Her human mind could not embrace the Weave like that of an elf, and she needed her full attention to stay aware of what was happening. He did, however, have to admire the effort she generally put in.

And so the morning was spent, a lazy time in a nearby meadow under the gaze of the sun. It was almost too close to the conditions of the previous day, and Xan had to try hard to not let his thoughts become filled with vision of Nuila's confused and annoyed face. The whole conversation had played on his mind as he'd tried to rest the previous evening, and it had taken many hours before he eventually passed into a fitful reverie, filled with images he hoped he'd never have to face again. But now they were in his conscious thoughts, torturing him and reminding him constantly. He sighed heavily with resignation; there was nothing else he could do. He would have to talk to her.

All too soon, it felt, he was being dragged towards the Temple of Helm to visit their poorly bard. There was no one around in the nave, and only a solitary girl sat in the chancel beside the altar at the far end of the building. Her soft singing could be heard by them both as they quietly made their way to the small passage that led down to the healers rooms, and for one small moment, Xan felt as if he could close his eyes, forget where he was, and imagine himself -- will himself -- back to Evereska.

But it would be foolish, and he knew it. And though the girl's singing was undeniably beautiful and haunting, it was still the voice of a human, singing in common about her human gods. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to ignore those small factors. Everything was out to show him how far away from home, and from his own circle of comfort he was.

Garrick was propped up in a comfortable looking bed with a multitude of cushions around him and a mug of some faintly steaming liquid in his hands. He looked perfectly fine to Xan, the slight bruises and cuts he'd had having been wiped away by the prayers of the faithful. Imoen bounded over to him, settling herself down on the edge of the bed as she pulled something out from her pocket and handed it over to him, and Xan groaned. She'd stolen a bunch of grapes that had been resting on the table at the entrance of the tavern, though the bard didn't seem overly bothered by the fact her goods were so obviously stolen.

"So Garry, how ya doin'?" she asked, getting straight to the point as Xan floated over to stand beside one of the tall, arched windows that looked out over the cemetery. Hardly a view to inspire overwhelming happiness, but he found it was marginally better than having to look at Garrick for any length of time.

"Much better now, thanks," Garrick said, eagerly helping himself to some of the grapes, and popping a few into his mouth. Not as many as Imoen had managed; Xan watched in morbid fascination as the young human girl forced more fruit into her mouth than should have been possible.

"Some of the younger female members of the church are quite zealous about their intentions to help a poorly young feel better," the bard added, winking slyly at pink-hair. Xan rolled his eyes and turned back to the window.

"Gosh… you didn't? You... _did_? You sly dog, Garrick! But surely not... by Mystra's Magic Macaroni! In a temple of the _All-Seeing Eye_?!"

Garrick sniggered softly, nudging the gaping Imoen with his elbow as he widened his eyes suggestively, and jerked his head to the side. Xan followed the signs and looked over to see a pretty enough human girl busily scrubbing the floor in the dormitory across the hall from the bard's room. Imoen gaped a bit more, before turning back to him and squealing quietly.

"Oh, just _wait_ until I tell Nuila! She's never gonna believe this!" Imoen exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper. It was all Xan could do to stop himself snorting.

"Well, I could hardly say no," Garrick replied quickly, his eyes roaming over to the acolyte absently. "But, er, maybe we shouldn't let Nuila into our secret... After all, she doesn't _need_ to know, does she?"

Imoen grinned widely at him. "Ah, in case she gets upset that ya... danced the forbidden dance elsewhere? I didn't know ya were still holdin' out for her..."

It was Garrick's turn to smile, though his expression retained the smug arrogance that Xan felt increasingly irritated by. "Well, there's no point in hurting her, not when she doesn't need to know..."

Imoen just nodded knowingly to him, tapping her nose slightly in some strange human ritual to signify a safe secret, apparently. Xan just shook his head slightly, content to keep out of the conversation as much as he could, even when Imoen changed the subject and began to excitedly tell Garrick about the lessons she'd had with Xan that morning. In fact, the only time he _did_ speak, was to catch her arm, and sternly utter her name before she could try out the acid arrow cantrip.

They left shortly after, and Xan was surprised to see the young girl's expression slowly turn darker as they wandered out into the late afternoon sun. He followed as she stalked her way over to a grassy spot, right in the centre of a cluster of graves, he noticed gloomily, and threw herself to the ground, glaring absently at the world around her. Cautiously he sat beside her.

"What gives him the right to be like that!" she exclaimed after a few moments. "How _dare_ he insinuate he's been with some girl, an' then expect me not to tell Nuila!"

Xan's eyebrow rose. "You don't sound wholly convinced of his activities within the Temple of Helm," he noted.

Imoen snorted loudly. "It's _Garrick_ we're talkin' about, remember? You really think a girl that pretty would even look at him twice? I know _I _wouldn't!"

Xan felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he resisted the urge to grin.

"I mean, since he's been with us, he's tried it with Branny, me _and_ Nuila... I think he'd even have tried it with Tiax had he thought he had any chance of success! An' he still thinks he's got a chance with her..." Imoen shook her head as if in disbelief. "Well, even if he did -- which I know he _doesn't_ -- he certainly won't when I tell her what he's been sayin'."

Xan pondered for a moment. "You think it's in her best interests to tell her, then?"

"Course I do!" Imoen replied indignantly, her hands plucking blades of grass from the ground rather viciously, before discarding them and letting them blow away in the gentle breezes. "I mean, I'll be careful how I say it -- just that he's sayin' he's found someone in the temple, but I don't know if he's tellin' the truth or not, and she needs to make it clear to him, for once an' for all, that she's not interested."

Xan cleared his throat. It had suddenly gone very dry. "She... she's told you about her... interests?"

The girl gave him a sly look from under her mop of pink-hair. "Sure has! There's no secrets between us... about _anything_."

"I... see." Suddenly Xan felt very hot and very uncomfortable. His hand went up to the collar of his robes, trying to make it wider. It felt as if they were trying to suffocate him.

"Every time another man joins the party we share views," Imoen continued, quite candidly. She was looking straight at him, but he avoided her gaze by looking anywhere else. With some desperation, he tried to concentrate on reading the nearest gravestone.

"We didn't really do it with Khalid, of course, because... well, he's old an' married!"

_A bard, of sorts, with skill in rhyme and reason made the words come clear..._

"Then there was Minsc, but he was a bit strange and we didn't really know what to make of him. He was kinda sweet though -- was a shame he decided to leave us like that."

_He gladly wrote for all to hear and therein lies the rub, my friends..._

"Course, then we came across Kivan... boy, he was _dreamy_! I think it was that broodin' appearance, ya know? Shame he was a bit distracted an' all -- he didn't seem to realise we were more than just kids!"

_He set his starts too far from ends, so "less is more" or go unread..._

"Course he was soon forgotten, because we met Ajantis! He's a real gentleman, doncha think? Well, compared to Tiax he is, anyways, but that wouldn't be so hard I guess."

_A lesson learned. Too bad I'm dead..._

"And there's you, too."

His eyes stayed on the inscription. His mind wished it was referring to Garrick. The silence lingered, and he knew she was watching him expectantly. For that reason alone, a pinkness crept into his cheeks, and it took her only a few seconds to notice.

"You're blushin!"

"I'm warm," he replied stiffly, fanning himself with a hand as he idly glowered up to squint at the sun.

"Suuuuure," the girl giggled. "If ya say so -- ya won't want to know what we said about _you_ then, will ya?"

He felt his teeth clenching -- not in anger or annoyance, but in resistance to asking a question he could only -- he _would _only -- regret. The girls giggling eventually faded, and he jumped slightly as he felt her touching his arm, her face suddenly sombre and serious.

"I'm sorry," she said, reminding him very much of Nuila. How many characteristics did they share, having grown up so closely together? "I didn't mean to upset ya."

He shrugged slightly, waiting until she'd removed her hand before he stood up, brushing down his robes to remove the dust and occasional razed piece of grass. "You didn't," he lied, absently noticing how dull his robes seemed to be these days, and how worn his cloak was. He let out a long sigh.

"C'mon," Imoen said, her voice strangely quiet and without the pestering tone that he was so used to hearing. "Let's go back to the inn an' wait for the others to come back. You can show me a bit more about that acid spell, an' make sure I won't do anythin' stupid if I try an' cast it when we're next in a fight!"

Her smile was infectious, and he found himself responding to it weakly, letting her link her arm in his as she dragged him purposefully back towards the tavern. Soon, the others would return, fresh from their bounty hunting, and he'd have to face another evening of a stony Nuila...

At some point, he _had_ to talk to her.


	15. Idle Gossip

**Author's Note:** No, I haven't forgotten about this one! It's been rather neglected, though, due to Maiyn and her story, so this chapter was more of a 'getting-back-into-it' thing than anything else; but we do manage to move the story on slightly, and set it up for the next installment, which won't (hopefully) take as long to appear. For anyone still reading... thanks for coming back to it!

----------

_I tell myself too many times_

_Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut_

_That's why it hurts so bad to hear the words_

_That keep on falling from your mouth_

_Falling from your mouth_

_Falling from your mouth_

_Tell me..._

_Why_

_-- Annie Lennox, Why_

----------

Xan approached Nuila that evening, as she sat alone in the common room at one of the tables secluded in the back corner. She was alone; Branwen and Ajantis had gone to see Garrick, but she'd declined the opportunity after having a hushed conversation with Imoen. Pink-hair had then bounced off somewhere -- Xan was sure he'd rather not know where -- and Tiax had decided to settle at the bar itself, muttering under his breath about an apparent waste of gems.

She didn't acknowledge him straight away. Her shoulders were slumped, and her robes really _did_ look tattered and old. Her hair was unkempt, brushed back roughly from her face, and held in place by several bands and clips. Some human women, he realised, would probably spend _hours _trying to emulate the style, but he imagined Nuila had just run out of patience with it sometime during the day and had impatiently tried to tame it. He cleared his throat nervously when she looked up at him. Obviously it was up to him to break the ice.

"How did you fare today?" he asked. Sometimes it was simpler to ask the questions that people expected you to ask; that way, you didn't surprise them.

She shrugged. "We pursued an artistic outlaw, we somehow managed to find him, and then we let him go because I liked his sculpture and he was dying anyway. Oh, and we killed another bounty hunter, who the town had specifically and already employed for the matter."

Xan stared at her for several long moments. "I see."

"We were only so long because we decided to dig a grave for the wanted man, and carry the bounty hunter's body back here. Mister Oubleck was not very happy to discover his favoured huntsman had met an unfortunate demise that we, of course, knew nothing of."

He pursed his lips, trying not to smile. He couldn't condone her lying to the authorities, of course, but her manner of relating the events of the day were so flippant, contrasting with her overall gloomy demeanour, that it struck quite a comical effect. He suddenly wondered if that was how _he_ sometimes appeared...

"Well, anyway, I've decided that I've had enough 'practice'," she declared, straightening up and laying her hands flat on the table before her, studying her fingers intently. "Jaheira and Khalid will still be over beside the Firewine Ruins, and I think we should go and find them tomorrow. We'll need their help and experience, I'd wager, if we are to go to Cloakwood."

Xan's mouth went dry. "You intend to go there soon, then?" he asked. His heart fell as she nodded, and suddenly he felt as if he were underground again; trapped between the endless walls of stone, kept from the freedom of the earth above, and continually hidden from the sun... the stars... the moon...

He was startled from his thoughts when she gently touched his hands, a concerned look in her eyes as she gazed at him intensely. "Are you well? You went quite pale."

"I... I am fine," he lied. It would do no good to speak of his foolish worried with her. Not when there was so much that needed said before. "I... I thought we should talk..."

She nodded. Her hands hadn't moved from his own however, and she was staring down at them. "I wanted to apologise," she said; a small frown wrinkling her brow. "I obviously said... or _did_ something that caused you some distress. I think I must have been careless with my words, and maybe you misunderstood me."

"There was nothing to misunderstand." This was proving to be more difficult than he'd imagined. Could she really have interpreted his behaviour correctly? He wasn't sure he understood it completely himself, though her insinuation that she would be his _friend_ had seemed to be a harsh blow in the middle of what he'd hoped was becoming a deeper understanding. But what was the point? It was hopeless.

"I think there was," she replied softly. "I didn't mean to be so dismissive about the... relationship we share." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "When I lost my fath... Gorion, I thought I'd never have anyone else in the world who I'd be able to trust as much as I could him and Imoen. I don't doubt that Jaheira and Khalid mean well -- he was their friend, and I trust his judgement. But they're not _my_ friends... not yet, anyway. And Branwen and Ajantis are nice, but... I don't _know_ them." She looked up and sighed. "I mean, I suppose I don't really know you, but... but I think, I could. You know?"

He nodded nervously. He didn't want to speak, to interrupt her train of thought. He didn't know what to say in any regard.

"I've only really met you and Kivan, from my people," she continued slowly. "And although Kivan was nice, he... he was distant. We shared a common goal, and when it was done, it... well. I didn't feel the same affinity with him as I do with you."

"We share a common goal too, Nuila," he gently reminded her.

"Yes, I know. But when it's over, we won't just go our separate ways, will we?" She looked up at him, a sudden hesitancy in her face. "Will we, Xan?"

"I will have to return to Evereska to report," he reminded her. "I have a duty to the Greycloak Elders, to my people. To our People."

"But I could go with you?"

"Nuila..." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You'll go on, most likely with your pink-haired friend, and... and whoever else is by your side. I will either be dead, or have other missions; other duties."

She sighed. "I suppose so."

He cleared his throat. "But... _assuming _that neither you nor I manage to get ourselves killed on this futile endeavour, I would gladly show you the splendour of my city in its real glory. I... I think you would like it."

She smiled at him. His heart felt strange for a moment. "I'd love that," she said warmly. "And... well, if you needed help on your future missions..."

"Nuila," he said gently.

She shook her head. "Don't. Just... let me hope that there's something that'll last beyond a shared goal."

He sighed mournfully, unable to nod, but resisting from arguing any further. It seemed to appease her, and she gave him a thankful smile before she stood up, wandering away to the stairs. He was foolish; he should have faced up to the reality that would mean their separation -- most likely through death, but also very likely through his commitment to his people.

He _really _didn't want to, though.

----------

That night they shared a reverie again, and he followed Nuila as she capered around in Candlekeep for most of the time; climbing, jumping, shouting, running, hopping... When they woke in the morning, he felt exhausted from the exertion he'd witnessed, though Nuila seemed to be in good spirits. It warmed his heart to see her in such a mood, and he took his time getting ready and packing his belongings, arriving downstairs much later than she had.

He arrived in the middle of a stand off. Nuila and Tiax were facing each other; the elven girl rolling her eyes, and the psychopathic gnome waggling his finger at her and shrieking loudly. There was something about toenail clippings, latrines... a muttering of grovelling amongst the peasantry. Xan had managed to tune most of Tiax out from his normal hearing, and so he was able to wander past the cleric and take a seat beside Imoen, who was watching the scene with complete fascination.

"I am sure I shall regret asking you very much," Nuila agreed, "but you're a cleric-"

"So is the barbarian harpy!" Tiax screamed.

"_Branwen_ is still packing," Nuila said firmly. "And I need someone to go and check on Garrick before we go."

"Tiax is no nurse! Tiax will not waste his vitally important time on the indolent earwig that cannot even feign proper injury!"

"It won't take long," Nuila said sternly, her hands on her hips. "And you don't even need to speak to him, if you don't want to. I've already told him of our plans, and he knows that if he finds his strength we'll probably pass through Beregost at some point in the next few weeks. But I'm no healer, and there was no one free from the Temple to talk to me this early, as they were busy _tending_ to things."

The gnome made a rude noise and snatched up his backpack. "Tiax will not pander to the whim of the wench with the crooked nose! When Tiax rules all, you will regret thinking such tasks are worthy of his greatness, as you empty Tiax's chamberpot every morning!"

"Right, fine!" Nuila exclaimed. "Imoen -- would you please go over, and see if someone will just let you know how he is?"

"Sure," pink-hair replied, slipping away from the group and padding towards the tavern's door while Nuila and Tiax stood there, staring at each other with varying levels of annoyance. It was the elf who gave in first, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands in the air in exasperation as she turned away, stalking towards the bar and settling herself on a stool. Xan followed her, cautiously taking a seat beside her and letting the silence linger for several minutes.

"Your good mood did not have the chance to stay for long," he noted eventually. She snorted as she looked over to him, a grin on her face.

"It could've been worse," she replied candidly. "Garrick was far too intent on dozing thorough my visit to his bedside this morning to even register our intention to move on without him," she noted. "Which made it easier..."

Xan frowned slightly. "Are you sure it is wise to dilute our numbers? We do now know what we shall face on the road, and… well. He may have been useless, but he was another presence."

"Another target, you mean?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. "I hope that isn't how you view your esteemed colleagues!"

He sighed. "Of course not," he said; momentarily unsure if he _did _feel like that, or not. After all, there were people like Tiax, and indeed, Garrick, in their group... He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Are we to leave soon?" he asked. She nodded.

"If you want breakfast, you'll need to eat it quickly," she said. "The others have all had, and I'm just waiting for Ajantis and Branwen to come down before we go. They've been up there for a while, now... actually, I might go and hurry them along."

She smiled and stood from her stool; and he watched as she walked away, her robes managing to swirl around her captivatingly, just clinging to her body _enough _to-

"Hey, Xan."

"Hmm?" He only half-registered Imoen's voice as she returned, swiftly, from her task.

"You might want to make your staring a bit less obvious."

He coughed, averting his gaze immediately and feeling himself redden. Abruptly he stood up, avoiding any eye contact with the sniggering human girl, and stalking darkly towards the door. "I'll wait for you all outside," he called back coldly, ignoring Imoen's eruption of laughter.

----------

They left Nashkel not long after, Nuila checking with Imoen that Garrick was all right; pink-hair assured their elven leader that she could safely testify that the bard was, literally, in capable hands. His absence from the group wasn't unwelcome to the enchanter, however; indeed, without him, things were almost peaceful. He could only hope that the gnome would be next to depart...

It was Ajantis that Nuila had decided to walk with, while Branwen and Imoen chatted slightly further behind. Xan sighed forlornly, and resigned himself to walking alone. Tiax was lagging even more behind, which was indefinitely preferable to having his company. And though he felt gloomy about Nuila's continued developing friendship with the aspiring paladin, he realised how much wore it would be if the gnome decided to bother him.

They were following the main road north, Nuila's intention to break away from it and head west when they were nearer to Beregost. She seemed unwilling to travel across country; they'd overheard some of the guards discussing the increased bandit activity in the forests and meadows that lay between Nashkel and Gullykin before they'd left the town, and Xan was grateful that she'd had the sense to choose her way carefully. The roads were unquestionably dangerous, but they were probably a safer option than the remote wilderness.

He made himself walk far enough behind Nuila and her escort, so that he couldn't overhear their conversation; whether he wanted to, or not. The relationship between him and the girl had been resolved, to a degree, though it was no less confusing than before. But they were friends, once again, at the very least -- and he had no wish to endanger that by becoming bristled by the paladin's genial manner and gentle mannerisms. After all, if there was to be any hope of anything further developing between himself and Nuila, he would have to know he trusted her implicitly...

He sighed and shook his head. It was hopeless. These mad thoughts he continued to have; they were all hopeless.

Imoen's voice came drifting over into his sense of hearing, and, despite his brain telling him not to, he found himself listening to her voice and taking in the conversation she was having with the blonde cleric.

"He is quite handsome," the younger girl was saying, her voice low and hushed, but still as loud as a shout to him. Humans were so... noisy. "A bit too stuffy fer me, though..."

Branwen frowned slightly. "You are a spirited girl, that is true," she said thoughtfully, her accented voice only slightly louder than that of her companion. "But if you imply that the Lord Ilvastarr is boring, then I must wonder what impression you have of myself..."

Imoen giggled. "Aw, I don't think he's _borin'_... he's just different to me, and so're you. You both have pretty similar views on things, you know? You both like... well, justice, and stuff." Imoen paused for a moment. "You're both kinda like Nuila."

"Your childhood friend has an admirable stance, most of the time," the warrior priestess remarked bluntly. "But she is young and naive, and sometimes she seems to lack focus and proper guidance. Perhaps she will find it, in time."

"I guess." Pink-hair's voice carried some doubt in it. Ajantis chose that moment to turn around and smile at them. Imoen waved cheerily, while Branwen offered an uncharacteristically shy smile, but managed to gaze back at him with her proud, undaunted expression before he turned back to his conversation with Nuila. Xan watched it all with curiosity.

"Shucks, he has a lovely smile," Imoen observed, almost dreamily.

"It is passable," Branwen said non-committally, suddenly becoming very interested in the scenery. Imoen's grin widened.

"Does he know ya like him?"

The priestess looked momentarily outraged before finding her calm again. "He is aware of the respect I have for him, and our friendship has the potential to become strong," she said carefully. "This is enough for me."

Imoen just nodded. "I could always drop a hint-"

"You will do nothing of the sort!"

"Bah. Spoilsport," the young thief replied merrily. There was another brief silence, then pink-hair turned back and looked over to him. He noticed her body turning well in advance, however, and had managed to turn his eyes down to the ground, looking as if he was completely lost in thought as they marched. It seemed to appease the human; she moved even closer to the priestess she was conversing with, and spoke in a whisper.

It was still loud, and he could still hear.

"You know, I'm pretty glad you an' Ajantis have hit it off so well, ya know? 'Cos... I think Xan's a bit jealous of him, and how well he gets on with Nuila, which is stupid because they don't see each other like that!"

Branwen's eyebrow rose, and she, too, cast a look behind her at him. He kept his gaze fixed to the ground, quietly seething, but making extra effort to appear wholly disinterested and bored with the journey. It took quite an effort, however; the temptation to leave their company and to head onward to Beregost when they got close enough was kindled in his soul. The rest of the conversation only served to fuel it.

"Does he?" Branwen whispered back. "He is a servant of duty, but he confuses me heavily with his dourness and depressive thoughts. I cannot see how he would be of any positive benefit to her if she were to return his feelings."

Imoen seemed to take a little offence at this. "He's not that bad," she said, in slight defence of her teacher.. "He just takes a bit of gettin' used to. And well... he's an elf, and so's Nuila, so maybe it's just how they become after a certain age."

Branwen nodded dubiously. "Perhaps. Your friend does not appear to be that... type."

"She's spent too long with me," Imoen winked. "And a good job too, because I'm pretty sure she likes Mr. Gloomy-Pants. He'll have to work hard to bring her down, and she won't go without a fight. And she can fight pretty well!"

And then the conversation turned, to a topic that was more comfortable for the warrior priestess; and they spoke of battles and achievements, of tests and of glory, as Imoen listened and questioned, and Branwen spoke confidently and passionately about the blood she'd spilt on the fields of wars before she sailed from her lands. And Xan slowly let himself lose interest in their words, for they meant little to him and were of no further interest.

He'd heard more than enough.


	16. Attachment

**Author's Note:** Slooowly getting back into this. Playing BG again certainly helps, especially now I've got Angelo Mod and Nalia Romance out of my system, and need a little break from BG2 anyway... :)

----------

_The time is right to put my arms around you_

_You're feeling right_

_You wrap your arms around too_

_But suddenly I feel the shining sun_

_Before I knew it this dream was all gone_

_-- Daft Punk, Digital Love_

----------

The afternoon sun was high in the sky as they continued west, after a short respite for lunch. They'd spent the night at the Jovial Juggler in Beregost, sharing a dormitory with several other travellers to Xan's dismay. Despite this, Nuila had still managed to make her way over to him, politely asking if he'd mind her curling on the floor next to his bed in order to share his reverie.

He'd insisted she take the bed as her own, and he'd spent the night on a mass of cloaks and blankets, his hand reaching up to hold hers through the night. He'd still felt the hard timbers of the floor, though, but it had been worth it; so much so, that he'd abandoned all hopes of leaving her company, once again.

Her reverie had been slightly different to usual. She wasn't in Candlekeep, this time; she'd been on a beach, the waves lapping gently at her feet as she stood there, staring out to the sea. Imoen had been present, as well -- and, soon enough, the two girls had started to run around together, laughing and shrieking.

Two older men had watched them, keeping a careful eye on their actions. Xan knew one to be Gorion, from Nuila's earlier memories, but was unsure of the identity of the second. Later, she'd told him that it was Tethtoril, and the day had actually been organised to get _him_ out of the library and into fresh air for his health. Luckily for the girls, Gorion had decided it would be a good day for _all_ of them; and so Xan was able to witness as Imoen sneakily placed a large pile of seaweed into Tethtoril's hood, somehow managing to remain unnoticed, while Nuila found and brandished a small, orange crab, only letting it go when the creature managed to nip her fingers.

He looked over to her; she'd been walking with him since they left the town, that morning, and had only left his side for the briefest of moments. She hadn't spoken much, however; though he, himself, had made no real effort to begin a conversation either. Instead, there was a comfortable and companionable silence between them; and whenever their eyes met, he would be rewarded with a smile.

Ajantis was telling Imoen about his plans to return to Athkatla. He was hoping that his travels with Nuila would provide him enough experience and valour to be nominated for his test, and then, if he passed, he would be eligible to become a Paladin Knight for his Order. He looked more alive and animated as he spoke of his duty and beliefs than Xan could remember seeing him before; Imoen, however, didn't look overly enthralled.

"Of course, all this is in the future," the squire was saying hurriedly. "I would not abandon the Lady Nuila to her quest, and I intend to follow her until its conclusion. If she permits, of course," he added, directing a look over to the elven girl.

"I'd be happy to have your company," she replied warmly. Xan felt a twinge of annoyance. He berated himself for it, though -- after all, they could use all the help they could get, and the squire was an adept fighter.

Ajantis beamed back to her, then directed his attention to Branwen. The warrior priestess was walking quietly to one side of the group, surveying the surrounding plains with interest. "What of you, my Lady Branwen," he said. "Do you have any plans for the future?"

She shrugged slightly, then used one hand to flick her golden hair back, and away from her face. "I have not yet thought that far in advance," she said thoughtfully. "For now, I am content to have avenged my own dishonour, and Tempus guides me to fight onwards at your sides until the matter is completely ended. And then..." She sighed. "And then, I do not know."

Ajantis nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps... I mean, if you would like to, you could... accompany me to Athkatla, possibly... there is no Temple to Tempus there, but I know of many who share your beliefs, and... And... I would be around... if you needed a guide..."

Imoen giggled inanely, earning herself a harsh look from Nuila, Xan noted. Branwen just looked at the pink-haired girl curiously, then bowed her head to Ajantis.

"I will consider it," she said neutrally, though the look of relief that crossed the squire's now pink face was unmistakeable. Xan also noted the barest hint of a smile on her lips. "It would be good to travel more in these lands, and I have no objections to accompanying you to your city."

"Well, it's not actually my city," Ajantis began, moving closer to talk to the priestess as he reminded her of his family in Waterdeep. Imoen took the opportunity to slink away from them, moving over to walk beside Nuila. She elbowed the elven girl, and jerked her head backwards. They both looked back quickly, then dissolved into random giggling, holding onto each other as they walked. Try as he might to ignore it, Xan couldn't help his curiosity. He quickly stole a glance behind them.

Tiax was there, muttering to himself as usual, and stalking along with the agitated gait of someone who'd much rather be somewhere else. But what seemed to have amused the girls was the fact that upon his helmet, draped up and over the horns at either side, and sitting well above the line of his vision, was a chain of flowers of the most vibrant colours Xan could imagine, all neatly woven together.

How they got should have been anyone's guess, though by the conspiratorial whispering happening at his side, and the memory of Imoen's pranks on Tethtoril, Xan had a fairly good idea of whom to suspect. Almost subconsciously, he felt his hands rise to his head, checking his hair for any unwanted decoration. He was relieved to find nothing.

---

Apart from Tiax, they'd all been in generally good spirits, so no one had been paying much attention to their surroundings. The gnome, however, had been shouting at Imoen about the floral addition she'd made to his outfit, and, Xan suspected, it was those shrill shrieks that had alerted the bandits to their passing in the first place.

They were surrounded almost immediately by human men who stank of sweat, ale and grease, all wielding rusty looking swords with viciously sharp edges. None of Xan's companions had moved for their weapons for one simple reason; the bandit leader had grabbed Nuila and put his own sword firmly against her neck.

To say he felt helpless was an understatement. The conversation passed by him like a fog; he was barely aware of the men demanding money and iron from them, and Nuila insisting they had little to give. She wasn't completely lying -- they had some coin, but not very much, and they had scarce iron in their weapons and mainly leather armours.

"We'll jus' have te take what ye have then, won't we?"

Xan forced himself to concentrate. The leader was leering at Nuila as he stood behind her, his hand slowly snaking its way up from her waist. She was standing completely still, her eyes half-closed. The others were watching her, waiting for a signal to attack.

"Search them!"

The men closed in on the group, hands reaching out to grab bags and weapons. Ajantis and Branwen looked over to Nuila with almost pleading expressions, both resolutely refusing to let go of their bags as the men rounded on the two warriors first. Then, another man faced Tiax, and reached for his helmet.

"NO!" the gnome screamed, causing the men to pause in their actions and look over to the cleric. "None shall touch Tiax's possessions without his express permission being granted beforehand!"

One of the men laughed nervously. Another joined in, and then they were all laughing, confident in their unity. One of them roughly grabbed Tiax's bag, trying to wrestle it from the gnome's determined grip.

Their leader was laughing too, his sword arm relaxed. Xan closed his eyes, and murmured. The resistance was limited; the man was becoming his to control.

"Now!" he hissed, beckoning Nuila to break free while he struggled to force the leader's arm away. She only gave him a quick glance before doing as he instructed. The bandit's control resurged, briefly, as she wriggled in his grasp, the sword was brought back up again sharply -- but then Xan broke down his defence completely, and he dropped his weapon with a cry. Nuila darted free, screaming for the others to attack.

Tiax was only too glad to oblige, smacking the nearest guard across the face with his mace. "Why must Tiax be subjected to such insolence? When Tiax rules all, none shall _dare_ manhandle him... unless they are pretty ladies; with noses even more resplended than Tiax's own!"

Xan ducked away from the skirmish, his moonblade in hand as he approached the bandit leader. He swallowed hard; it was always difficult, he realised, to make the final blow like this. In the fury of battle one didn't have the time to think, to contemplate. As it was, Xan's blood felt cold as he stood there, preparing to strike a mortal blow.

A hand on his arm stayed his sword, and he turned to see Nuila there, a trickle of blood running down her throat. She wasn't looking at Xan, however; her eyes were boring into the unconscious bandit leader, and her expression was cold. Behind her, his men had fallen to the others. He was the only one left.

"Is he..." she asked.

Xan shook his head. "He will awaken. And then he will find new men and new victims."

She nodded slowly. "We could-"

"Nuila..." He kept his voice as gentle and as low as possible. "The town and any authority it may have is far behind us. We cannot take him to Gullykin as I doubt the halflings would have the appropriate facilities to put him to trial. There is no other way."

"We could... we could go back, perhaps..."

"And delay our journey more? He is a bandit, Nuila. He has more than likely killed innocent travellers, stolen their possessions. You might think that he deserves to be judged by the authorities, but he was ready to kill you there. I _felt_ him fight my spell, and had he been successful you would be dead."

She nodded slowly, but still didn't look up to him. "Yes... yes, you are right."

He reached out, taking her arm and guiding her away. He nodded to Ajantis as they passed; the squire was standing ready, his sword in hands. Xan was glad he had the sense to wait until they'd moved well away before he brought it down.

---

The rest of the march was subdued, though Nuila stayed beside Xan, walking closer to him than she had been before. He spent the time wondering what was going through her mind; she'd been so sheltered, she was so idealistic. How hard was adapting to this life proving for her?

There were no other incidents, though; they reached the halfling village and introduced themselves to the mayor. He was very happy to see them, explaining that Jaheira and Khalid had ventured south to the ruins of an old bridge to investigate the possibility that it was involved in some way with the attacks that Gullykin had been suffering from. In the interim, they were shown to a low-ceilinged tavern, and Nuila had been gently coaxed back into her smiling self by Imoen; the pink-haired girl having found a roll of paper and a stick of charcoal, and having had proceeded to draw various comical depictions of their companions -- mostly Tiax, who had then huffed and threatened, waggling a finger before stalking away somewhere.

Then Imoen had left them as well, eager to explore the settlement and quick in accepting Ajantis' offer to walk around the perimeter as the sun set. The squire had taken upon it, himself, to provide extra help towards watching for any more raiders -- the mayor had explained that kobolds were the culprits, and Xan had instinctively shuddered -- and Branwen was already out there, training some of the younger halfling guards how to use a sling.

Before he realised what was happening, Nuila was sitting down, brandishing the parchment and the stick of charcoal. She smiled, and a chill crept down his spine. She'd targeted_ him_.

"Will you play, then?" she asked, unrolling the scroll without waiting for an answer. At his silence, she managed to look up to him questioningly.

He swallowed hard, and nodded. She beamed with delight.

"You'll know how to play, of course," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll draw the grid-"

He cleared his throat. "Not as such, no."

She paused, having drawn one neat, straight line. "Not as such... what?"

"I am not familiar with how one plays this... game."

"Oh." She paused for only a moment, a thoughtful look on her face as she regarded him. Then, a shrug. "It's very easy," she explained, drawing another line, parallel to the first. "One of us chooses to play noughts, and the other plays crosses, and we fill in the spaces on the paper."

"And the aim?"

"Well, the winner manages to get three of their symbols in a straight row," she said, finishing her drawing. To Xan it looked only like a box with lines extending too far from the corners. She seemed pleased with her efforts, though. "It's not as easy as it sounds," she warned, seeming to note his dubious look, and misreading it for qualms over the satisfaction of playing the game; then she scratched a cross into one of the outer boxes.

He merely hmm'd at her, accepting the charcoal as she proffered it. At her expectant look, he inscribed a tidy circle into the centre square. It was placed almost perfectly in the middle.

She accepted ownership back of the charcoal, and a dainty cross was placed in another of the unfinished boxes to the side of his nought. The stick exchanged hands once more.

He watched her, unable to completely hide his amusement. She was so... _engrossed_ in the game, that her eyes appeared glued to the paper, as if anticipating his next move. He barely glanced down to see where he was drawing, quick to pass the turn back to the girl so he could just watch her for a little longer.

She squealed in delight, her cross ending his hopes of achieving a diagonal line, while setting it up for two potential lines of her own down the two perpendicular sides of the grid. She gave him a triumphant look as she presented the charcoal to him with a flourish, and giggled as he sighed with resignation, taking his turn dutifully despite the outcome being known to both.

She was quick to fill in the last cross of her line, scoring through her crosses to signal her success. Then, with shining eyes, she looked up at him. "Again?"

---

He raised his hand to cover his mouth subtly, watching her from the corner of his eye. They'd played... he'd lost count, he realised, but it been well over a dozen more games, and Nuila had failed to win another. Now she was frowning in concentration, almost poured completely over the parchment as she watched for him to make a mistake. None was forthcoming.

A sigh from her signalled yet another draw, and he forced himself to wear his normal look of indifference as she threw herself back in the seat. She regarded him carefully.

"You learn quickly," she mumbled. Then a large grin crept across her face. "That was fun, though. Imoen usually cheats."

Xan's eyebrow rose in puzzlement. "She... cheats? At this game?"

Nuila nodded, absent-mindedly playing with a lock of her hair. "She'll get me to turn around to look at something and when I look back, she's managed to rub away my cross, or switch papers, or something."

He nodded slowly. "And you... you never cheat, I expect."

She gave him an indignant, but friendly, look. "Certainly not! And if you're implying that I cheated to beat you..." She paused, then peeked at him slyly. "Of course, I was the only one to _win_ a game, so that means I beat you fair and square..."

He gave a snort of mock derision, hesitating for a second before he reached out to draw the parchment closer to him and picking up the now discarded charcoal. Nuila watched him with interest, slumped back against her chair in a lazy manner as she relaxed, a few halflings going about their business in the background. He guided the stick across the parchment lazily, his mind drifting in the warmth and peacefulness. Soon he had a rough depiction of a floral meadow, a lone, robed figure standing in the middle with flowing hair, and a smile on her face...

"May I see?" He started. Nuila had moved around to sit on the bench by his side, and was peering over his shoulder with apparent curiosity. He flinched as he looked more carefully at his drawing -- it was obviously meant to be her, but she didn't seem to be in a position to take no for an answer. Slowly, he moved aside.

"Oooh," she said, her eyes widening as she took it all in. "You're _very_ good." Her hand reached out, and one slender finger gently traced down the drawn figure. "Is that... me?"

He nodded, silent as she grinned delightedly. "You can keep it, if you want. It was just a... rough... sketch..."

"Really? Thank you!" The parchment was laid, briefly, on the table, and her arms went flying around him. He thought back, remembering the last time she'd been this close; and how he'd missed the chance to hold her in return. And so he closed his eyes as tight as he could, inhaled for courage, and placed his arms, loosely, around her waist.

He had to fight hard to wipe the dreamy half-smile from his face when they did, eventually, part.


	17. Admissions

**Author's Note:** I'm glad so many of you have kept the patience with this story, despite it's sporadic updates. I did think that there'd be varying amounts of time passing between chapters, but nowhere near as bad as it turned out... still! I'm on a bit of a roll, so without further ado...

----------

_I don't believe in an interventionist God_

_But I know, darling, that you do_

_But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him_

_Not to intervene when it came to you_

_Not to touch a hair on your head_

_To leave you as you are_

_And if He felt He had to direct you_

_Then direct you into my arms_

_-- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Into My Arms_

----------

There was still no sign of the Harpers when they awoke the next day, though Nuila didn't appear to be overly worried. Xan had to agree with her, secretly -- they appeared to be very capable and shared years of experience between them. A few kobolds wouldn't prove to be too much difficulty for them, especially not so soon after their exploits in the mine.

He didn't tell anyone this though.

"It's hopeless," he sighed, ignoring Nuila as she rolled her eyes. "If we go searching for them, we'll only succeed in having the unsavoury discovery of their dismembered corpses littering the path somewhere between here and the ruined bridge."

"Right," she said, sounding somewhat unconvinced. "Then we'll stay here _another day_, and wait a _bit longer_." She gave him a defiantly exasperated look, and then started fidgeting in her seat. There was only so much he could take.

"You are our leader," he pointed out. "It is up to you what we do, not I."

"Your opinions matters, though," she argued. "I mean, especially compared to some others in our group." She sighed and looked around. They were sitting on a small, wooden bench that was, really, too small for them and only meant that there was very little space between them. The sun was rising in the sky, and halflings were passing on a frequent basis, offering friendly smiles and over-enthusiastic curtsies and bows.

"You know, when I was younger, back at Candlekeep," Nuila began, thoughtfully, "I read all these tales about adventurers, and... well, none of it is _true_, is it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her questioning gaze.

"Well. For example, I don't think I've ever read of a famous adventuring party consisting of an elven girl, her human sister, a gnome with delusions of grandeur, an overseas priestess, and a depressed mage. Though at least we have the striving squire, which means we're, perhaps, not a total loss... Seriously, though. The tales I read... they had _drow_ in their parties! And half-demons, and extra-planar creatures, and lycanthropes, and-"

"And no one actually _normal_?" he interrupted. She grinned at him.

"Touché. Still, it'd be nice to have _someone_ interesting with us; well, someone who wasn't completely convinced that he's actually the favoured avatar of his God..."

"I wouldn't wish too hard," he warned. "You have no idea the kind of people that are out there, just waiting for you to meet them."

She chuckled and shrugged. "I suppose I'm just a bit disillusioned by it all. It's meant to be so glamorous, so exciting. And... it's not. It's either dangerous or boring -- there's nothing in between."

A silence fell as they sat in the warmth of the sun, each caught up in their own thoughts. Xan looked over to the village gates, where Ajantis and Branwen were dutifully patrolling the settlement perimeter. There was no sign of either Tiax or Imoen; Xan found himself unable to care where the gnome was, but did worry, slightly, about the pink-haired girl's notable absence. He quickly swept the notion from his mind; Nuila had shown no concern at Imoen's lack of presence, so the human girl had obviously informed their leader of whatever it was she was doing.

"I don't know," Nuila sighed. "It's really nice here, but I'm getting this terrible feeling, that I'm actually completely bo-"

"Kobolds!"

Nuila leapt to her feet at the sound of Branwen's shout, and she was off and running before Xan was even standing up. He followed as quickly as he could, only just remembering to snatch his spellbook up from the stone ledge he'd left it on, his heart beginning its familiar racing beat.

He approached the gate, where Nuila was already staring off into the distance, one hand up and across her brow as she tried to block out the glare of the sun. A yipping noise could be heard faintly, and somewhere behind him, he could hear both Imoen and Tiax's voices as they also appeared, preparing themselves for combat.

The gnome was praying rapidly, his voice high and excitable compared to Branwen's own calm and controlled offers of entreaty. Ajantis was calling for the halfling guards, taking command of them, and directing them to their battle positions to best try and fortify the village. He could barely hear Imoen's own voice as she whispered one of her newer spells, but a quick glance to her showed a faint blue outline enveloping around her. She grinned over to him, and held her thumb up in the air. He felt a little more comfortable, knowing that she'd paid enough attention to master the manipulation of magical armour.

It was as he turned back to Nuila that his world slowed right down. She didn't seem to have moved at all, her attention still fixed on the plains stretching out into the distance. A slight movement caught his eye; a bounding creature approaching from her side, sword held firmly in its grasp. He opened his mouth to cry a warning, but it seemed to take an impossibly long time for his voice to react. Instead, he was unable to do anything but watch as it got closer and closer...

And then it was within striking distance. His hands were automatically trying to free the owl feather he needed from several other components, but he couldn't take his eyes off the kobold and his leader. He barely noticed her muscles tensing; she'd given no sign that she noticed the creature's approach, but then, suddenly, she'd darted forward, dodging its clumsy lunge, spinning around to face it with a fierce glint in her eye and a cold, calm expression on her face. It was trying to recover from its balance when she struck it firmly in the head, a sickening crunch coming from the noise of impact between her brass dusters and the kobold's skull. It crumpled to the ground.

She only just managed to jump out of the way of an arrow.

"Back, back" she shouted, running towards Xan and dragging him with her as they moved away from the gate. Suddenly he saw more of them -- all safely within the town's perimeter, already engaging the squire and the priestess in their battle. They had no hope -- the halfling guards were peppering the stray kobolds with slingshots, and both Imoen and Tiax were providing divine and arcane back-up to the warriors who easily cleaved and bludgeoned their foes.

Nuila wasn't watching, though.

"Here," she hissed, her hand still gripping onto his sleeve tightly, leaving him with no option but to follow her as she all but ran over to the far side of the village. One lone house was nestled into a grove of trees, the settlement's stone wall showing signs of having been extended to encircle the hut recently. The dusty ground was covered in small footprints; the smell of kobolds was unmistakeable.

"We should really get the others-" Xan began, realising Nuila's intention as she frowned at the home. She nodded absently.

"They'll follow when they have finished," she murmured. Then she looked up to him. "Don't you wonder how the kobolds got into the village so quickly? Branwen and Ajantis wouldn't have missed so _many_ of them approaching, not even if they _had_ managed to use cover. No..." She paused, glaring back at the hut. "No, I think we need to investigate this particular abode."

He hesitated, putting up a slight resistance as she moved to drag him along even further. She gave him a quizzical look.

"It's only a halfling's home," she pointed out, grinning slightly. "What's the worst that could happen?"

---

Nuila held up her hand and grimaced. "Just don't," she warned. "Don't say a word."

He shrugged helplessly and turned away to hide the hint of a smile on his face. Their current predicament was, of course, far from amusing to him, but he supposed it could _possibly _be worse. Tiax could be with them, for one thing...

As it was, they were currently all but barricaded into a dank underground storeroom, unable to make too much noise for fear of alerting the ogre mage who'd taken up residency in the room outside. The room that was, now, between them and the stairs to the halfling village.

Despite his objections, Nuila had marched into the halfling home, crouched down somewhat to avoid the extremely low beams, before proceeding to accost the owner of the burrow. Initially, the woman had been indignant over all charges levied at her, until Nuila had swooped down to grab an arrow, proclaiming it to be of the same make as the ones the kobolds outside were using.

Xan had to admit that there _had _been an awful smell of kobolds in the home...

The halfling woman had snapped her confession at them both, grabbing a nearby broom and brandishing it fiercely. It hadn't saved her, though -- Nuila seemed to be quite knowledgeable at the art of knocking people out, and she'd proceeded to try and drag the woman's body outside, to tell the mayor what they'd discovered.

Unfortunately for Xan, his robe had snagged on the corner of a bookshelf as he'd followed her. When he tried to pull it free, the whole case had swirled around, revealing a stairway leading down into the darkness. Her eyes had shone, and he'd groaned -- suddenly her prisoner was forgotten, and she was venturing into the unknown. He'd had no option but to follow her down, into a large, open room, with a table, some chairs, and a horrible, horrible smell.

Nuila had proceeded to look around, poking and prodding at various things with a frown on her face, while he waited, twitchily, at the bottom of the steps, thankful that she'd managed to ignore the one passage leading away. Then she'd found something; some symbols on a stone in the wall, at the other side of the room, and next to a wooden door. She'd called him over to translate them, and he'd reluctantly complied.

The stone had said 'Basement'.

Then they'd heard someone approaching swiftly, their voice echoing around the corridor and becoming louder and louder. Nuila had pushed the door open, shoved Xan in first, then followed quickly, closing the door behind them and managing to move a few boxes in front of it to hold it shut tight. He'd caught a glimpse of an ogre through one of the cracks in the frame, and had groaned. The room they found themselves in was tiny, and there were no other exits. They were trapped. Fortunately for them, the creature outside appeared to have no interest in the bare, small room.

When he turned back to her, he noticed she'd removed her cloak, spreading it out on the ground to provide a thin layer of insulation against the cold stone. She'd settled down, looking rather uncomfortable nevertheless, but had left plenty of room for him to also utilise the makeshift blanket, should he choose to. He forced himself to look away, aware that his gaze on her was bordering on one of fondness. Thankfully, she'd been glaring off, into the distance, her arms folded in obvious annoyance. Another quick glance through the tiny crack in the wooden frame showed that the ogre had settled down into one of the chairs, and seemed to be intently studying a piece of parchment. With a sigh, Xan moved over and carefully settled himself down beside his elven companion. Neither spoke for a long time.

"Xan?" Nuila was, at least, sensible enough to keep her voice low.

"Hmm?" He looked over to her. Her frown had gone; she looked almost sad, and her eyes gleamed with seriousness. For a horrible moment, he feared the worst.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask, that is, if... if you don't mind."

"I..."

"It's about the time we spoke before, in Nashkel."

His throat went dry. He just nodded.

"I mean, I know we spoke about it before we left, but it... that is, I didn't..." She took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that... is... that..." She threw her hands up, covering her face in them and shaking her head. "Gods, what is _wrong_ with me?" he heard her mumble.

He shifted uncomfortably. A million voices were trying to make themselves heard in his head, but he paid attention to none of them. The silence lingered, until eventually she removed her hands, sighed deeply and gave him a pointed look.

"When we sat by the river, do you remember? What we spoke about? The things we said?"

_Of course I do_. "Yes," he said, simply. He looked away from her.

"I was trying to say something to you, but... but I think that you misunderstood me. Or, you did really understand me, and you were trying to spare my feelings, perhaps. I can't decide."

"I think I understood you well enough."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. A quick glance revealed that she'd looked away, staring ahead of her at something on the far wall. "So you were... I mean, yes. That would make sense, I suppose. I guess I should apologise... for asking to travel on with you, then. I think... I think I thought that you'd maybe change your mind, one day. Or something. I don't know. Perhaps I'm just young and foolish." She gave a weak laugh.

He stared at her with complete confusion. "I don't think I understand," he said.

She shrugged. "I mean that being friends is better than nothing. It's not like we've known each other long, anyway, and it's not like I have anything to compare it to. I might be... I might be kidding myself." She shook her head again. "No wonder you think I'm such a child."

"Nuila... what are you saying? You have completely lost me."

She met his eyes, her own narrowed as she peered at him with her brow furrowed. "I'm... I'm apologising for before. When I tried to... when I was hinting that... when I didn't have the courage to tell you what I was _feeling_, and I hoped you'd pick up my... meaning..."

He felt the blood drain from his head. He felt his hands begin to shake as they rested on his lap. He had thought his throat was dry, already; somehow it became even _drier_. He thought his vocal chords had abandoned him, but he managed a barely audible croak.

"I tried to convince myself that you'd missed my meaning," she continued, looking down at her own hands as they fiddled with her dusters. "That I hadn't been clear, or something. Imoen assured me that it was better to be subtle about it -- that people didn't just march up to someone and declare their feelings, but… but I've not had the experience... I've not read the _books_ she has."

He tried to say her name, but only managed a wheeze.

"So I thought I'd have to ask you, but then you came to talk to me before we left Nashkel. And... and I was going to ask, but... you said you'd not misunderstood me, and then you seemed very... _dismissive _of the idea of us travelling together after all this..." She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. "I guess I already knew, deep down. I just hope that you can... ignore it, maybe? I mean, I wouldn't want to lose your friendship over it; I... I hope you feel the same."

He forced himself to swallow. "I... I don't feel the way you think I feel."

She closed her eyes. "I know. I'd rather... rather not go over it, if it's all right? I have a lot to learn, and-"

"Nuila." He kept his voice gentle, but insistent. She stopped talking, but remained close-eyed, her knees now drawn up before her, looking every inch as vulnerable as she had when they sat in front of the campfire, not long after he joined their group. "I need to explain. Please."

She visibly flinched, but nodded slowly. He thought she was about to start crying and he briefly entertained the idea of putting his arm around her, before deciding against. He paused for a moment, organising his thoughts, and then spoke.

"I cannot believe you are blind and deaf, Nuila. But then, perhaps I should say the same about myself? The day we spoke, with the sun shining down on us... I longed to speak to you of my feelings... my desires. But I could not, for fear that it would be thrown back at me, and because I know little else, except for the duty I have to my People. When you spoke of the importance of our friendship, it was like a physical blow. I felt that it was all you sought, and I needed the time and space to accept it and tell myself how foolish I'd been."

She was staring at him; her eyes were wide, her look disbelieving. He didn't let her interrupt.

"However sad and sorry this feeling is... no, I will not malign it." He sighed heavily. "I feel for you, Nuila, everything that a man can feel for a woman. Affection, attraction, love, desire - but it will not end well. It cannot."

"Xan-"

"I have already told you of my moonblade. You know of my duties as a Greycloak. Nameless assassins hunt you; your own foster father was murdered protecting you shortly after you left your home. I have come close to leaving your company twice now, because I was not sure how long I could cope with how I... felt. And now... now..." He laughed, but felt no mirth. What a cruel, cruel discovery. He felt sadder than he had in a long time. "I cannot go on. If this continued, you will be hurt. You will suffer when I die, and I won't have that. What is the point of shielding you from enemies, if I cannot protect you from myself? You have a chance to survive; you are capable and strong. When your quest is dealt with, you will be able to lead a normal life, while I will embrace another mission, and my trials will last beyond the grave, which is not far away." He sighed. "After I die, there is nothing, unless you'd like to keep the Moonblade as a souvenir of sorts; though it is unlikely, as it shall no doubt demand another wielder." He looked into her eyes, and hesitantly reached out, gently touching her cheek. "I have seen our kin die of grief after one of the lovers has passed away, and the bond between them has been broken. It must not happen to you. Ever."

Suddenly her arms were around him, and her face was burrowed into his robes. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wanting to push her away, but instead, he returned her embrace. _Hanali has a cruel streak_.

"You can't leave," came her muffled voice. "I won't let you, I won't!" She pulled back slightly, so her face was only inches from his. "Do you... really...?"

"Nuila..." He gently moved, putting a more comfortable distance between them. She managed to somehow hang onto both of his hands, however. "There is nothing left to discuss. It is futile to even-"

"Can't you forget about the future? Can you not even try; attempt to think that things will _maybe_ work out? Can you? For... for _me_?"

He made a strangled noise, and looked anywhere -- _anywhere_ -- but into those pleading green eyes. A lifetime seemed to pass, as she sat there, waiting for him to answer; unmoving, unspeaking. He felt himself subconsciously beginning to stroke her hands softly.

"You do not know what you are asking for," he eventually managed. "What you suggest is sheer madness..."

"Please," she whispered.

"Nuila, no. You are young, you will recover." He caught her eyes, and his heart felt like it was about to burst. "No, do not look at me so, I..." His voice faltered; it _was _hopeless. He couldn't fight it any longer; despite his better judgement, despite his sensibility. "I shall stay with you, at least," he sighed. "I will aid you with your quest, I will..."

She was smiling at him. Her hands were squeezing his, and she was getting closer and closer to him. He felt his trembling increase.

"You have enchanted me stronger than any of my colleagues could," he whispered breathlessly. "If you only knew how it scares me..."

His eyes closed as he felt her breath on his skin, and he prepared for their lips to meet.

Neither of them expected the explosion in the storeroom outside.


	18. Stability

**Author's Note:** Moving house does not lend itself favourably to pursuing ones hobbies it seems. I need to crack out BG again, as well, to familiarise myself with some bits and pieces sigh So, bearing in mind that this was written over several different days, and while I had no real access to the game, I hope it's… passable… :)

--

_In the water where the scent of my emotion_

_All the world will pass me by_

_Fly away on my zephyr_

_We're gonna live forever_

_Forever_

_-- Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Zephyr Song_

--

"Fireball, huh?" Imoen looked mildly impressed, and immediately peeked over to Xan. "Can you teach me that one?"

He groaned as he sat on the too-small chair beside the too-hot fire and just shook his head. Imoen snorted and huffed, but was quickly quietened by Jaheira's continuation of her tale.

"Yes, Imoen, a fireball. That is why it was so loud and explosive, so hot and-"

"Firey?" Imoen ventured, somehow keeping her expression wholly innocent. The druid ignored her.

"It was then that we were certain that the kobolds did not act alone. They were co-ordinated by another." She paused, flashing an eagle-eyed stare at Nuila. "You remember when we were in the mines? Khalid and I told you that the kobolds were too organised?"

The elven girl nodded from her own seat; she was sitting cross-legged at the other side of the room by a small curtained window. They were in the halfling mayor's home, cramped and crowded. Imoen sat by her friend, now fiddling with a corner of the small rug, while Jaheira and Khalid perched upon stools beside a table that had been hastily pushed to the side to create more room. Tiax was trying to lounge on the sofa, though Branwen was proving to be a formidable opponent in the battle for dominance of the couch.

And Ajantis… well. The knight was in obviously tailored clothing, his armour left behind in their tavern rooms as it had proven to be too restrictive to wear in such confined surroundings. Xan had noticed Branwen throwing appraising looks over towards the squire, but had spent much of his time watching Nuila when the chance arose. He was quietly happy to see that she only gave Ajantis the briefest of genial nods before turning her attention back to the Harpers, despite Imoen's frequent nudges and obviously lewd whispers.

"And in the Nashkel Mines, it was Mulahey who organised them," Nuila said, her voice sounding gentle compared to the brisk, slightly harsh tones of the druid. "And we know why. But what was the ogre doing here?"

"The halfling, Jenkal, had some interesting things to say in your absence," Ajantis said. Xan noticed how Nuila's cheeks took a slightly pink tinge, and she began to study her knuckles intently.

"Yes, indeed," the mayor sighed. Gandolar Luckyfoot had been listening intently to most of the story, seemingly entranced by the druid's tale of the Harper's exploits under the ruins of the Firewine Bridge. They had travelled south and entered the dungeons beside one of the ancient gatehouses, then fought their way through hoards of ambushing kobolds, dealt with ancient spirits of knights, and finally reached the lair of the ogre mage who had unknowingly held Xan and Nuila captive in the village's storeroom.

The storeroom that was looked after by Jenkal, one of the village halflings.

"He is not happy with his people," Gandolar continued sadly, wringing his hands together as he spoke. He stood by the entrance to his cottage, too insistent that everyone else find somewhere to sit as they were visitors. "He says he received coin from the mage to allow access up and through his home for raids on our village. And he was happy to allow this."

"But why?" Nuila asked. She was frowning in confusion.

"Wronged him, we had," the mayor replied. "Apparently, anyway. He blamed us for the death of his daughter and wife, many years before. They had left the safety of the village one day and were caught by wolves in the forest to the west. We found their bodies, and hunted the wolves, but found nothing."

"But that wasn't your fault," Imoen said. "I mean, it must have been awful for him… But it could have happened to anyone!"

"It never did, though," Gandolar sighed. "We stay close to the walls of our village for our own security. Few have died here to anything except old age; and so Jenkal believed we were conspiring against him."

"He thought the deaths of his wife and child were planned by his acquaintances?" Jaheira asked.

"With time, he became bitter and withdrawn. We tried to move him from his home so we could better use the basement he had access to, but he refused. In the end, we dug another beneath the tavern, and left him to live alone on the outskirts. There was nothing we could do or say."

"But what about the ogre?" Branwen enquired. "What of its part in this matter?"

"The ogre w-was living on the adventurers who explored th-the ruins," Khalid explained. "We d-did not get a chance to talk to it, b-but…"

"But we found enough in the way of evidence," Jaheira concluded firmly. "And when we confronted the ogre in its den, it did not deny anything. Instead, it spoke of someone called 'Carsa', and stated it would not stop until it regained what she had taken from it."

Xan cleared his throat. "Do we know who this 'Carsa' is?" he asked.

Jaheira shook her head. "We do not. The only thing we found on its body was a parchment referring to another ogre of magical ability, called 'Kahrk'."

"N-neither of these seem to relate to th-the troubles of the village," Khalid said gently, a quirky smile on his lips. "So w-we have not investigated further. There are matters more p-pressing than exploring the private l-life of a dead ogre."

Xan felt quite relieved; it was one less wild goose chase for Nuila and Imoen to become fixated on. Branwen, however, was frowning.

"So why did the ogre work with the kobold?" A few glances were exchanged.

"We can only offer guesses to their reasons," Jaheira noted. "It is likely, however, that it was convenient for the ogre and its followers to have such ready access to regular… prey." Her last word came out slowly and carefully; Xan noticed how she deftly avoided meeting the mayor's eye as he flinched at her choice of words.

"And if it was killing explorers in the ruins, it would have gained the money to pay the halfling for use of the route," Ajantis murmured to himself.

Jaheira nodded. "We found a deposit of equipment, which we have left in the tavern. We believe it came from the victims who fell, both halfling and not." She turned to the mayor. "It is yours to deal with as you see fit."

He nodded graciously. "We thank you for your efforts and success," he said, shuffling over to a large cupboard. He opened the door only slightly ajar, and pulled free a leather pouch, dyed green, and handed it to the druid. "As promised, your reward. We have little, but we would spare more to express our gratitude if we had it."

Jaheira looked hesitant for a second; Xan could see the pride on Gandolar's eyes, however, and the half-elf briskly passed the bag to her husband, and bowed her head to the halfling. "Thank you."

"The equipment you collected," Gandolar said, as one by one they began to stand and move towards the door. "Not all of it will be from our fallen kin. Any belongings alien to us shall be yours to serve you in your future travels." The mayor raised a hand as Jaheira opened her mouth to undoubtedly protest. "We are simple people; such trinkets and magics would be wasted here."

--

He found her outside, later that evening. The others were still looking through the fair amount of equipment that had been left after the halfling villagers removed the keepsakes from their fallen. She was sitting on the sturdy gate at the entrance to the halfling village, her legs swinging idly as she gazed to the south, seemingly caught in her own dreams. For a moment, he wondered if it was worth bothering her; she'd obviously sought quiet and solitariness. Who was he to intrude on her private time?

So he stopped short of reaching her, giving her a final, fond look, and then turning away to return to the others.

"Xan!"

She leapt from the gate and trotted over to him with a lazy smile on her face. He watched her, fighting to prevent his own lips curling upwards too, until she was there, standing next to him. Without a second thought, she'd wrapped both her arms around his own, and was dragging him along as she wandered slowly around the village.

He walked with her in silence, both awkward and content. He could feel her fingers drawing symbols on the back of his hand but he couldn't concentrate enough on it to determine if there was any significant pattern. He kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, for he felt the colour rising in his cheeks whenever he tried to look over at her. But she seemed happy; she didn't try and initiate conversation, she didn't squirm or push herself closer to him.

And so they walked. The sun was setting, casting a fading glow across the clouds overhead. Had he not known better, Xan would have wondered if the Gods had set the sky on fire.

They'd managed to get to the far side of the settlement, when Nuila suddenly darted to the side, pulling at his robe as a signal for him to follow. She led the way into a small orchard, where the grass was neatly cut, and a few apples were resting on the ground, fallen from the boughs above. A small picket fence sectioned the area off, and a row of thorny bushes to their right obscured the harshest of the glare from the setting sun.

Nuila allowed herself to drop to the ground near the middle of the enclosure, but Xan lingered a few yards away; loitering, standing. His hands fidgeted with the hilt of his blade, and with the buckle on the belt of his robe, as she watched him for a few moments with an amused expression. Eventually he sighed and slowly moved over towards her, settling awkwardly onto the ground. She shuffled closer towards him, so they sat side-by-side, their arms touching. He felt colour rising into his cheeks.

"It's so quiet here, isn't it?" she asked, looking far away and into the distance. He carefully kept his own visual attention fixed to a large black crow sitting atop the poorly made halfling scarecrow in one of the fields outside the village walls, but offered a slight nod. The silence that followed was comfortable, to his relief.

"Jaheira and Khalid spoke to me earlier," she continued. "They suggested that I consider allowing them to accompany us to Cloakwood. That I should sleep on the matter and let them know my decision tomorrow." Her green eyes fixed on him. "What do you think?"

Xan offered a slight shrug. "The decision is, of course, your own to make. But… as you've asked my opinion, I will give it. They are experienced, Nuila – something you and Imoen are not. Even I am hopelessly overwhelmed by the task that lies ahead of us, despite my seasons as a Greycloak."

She nodded. "You're right, I know. And the others…"

Xan sighed. "The paladin is a fresh-faced youth with romantic aspirations that possibly culminate in the rescue of some poor damsel who will be in even more distress when he frees her from captivity and subjects her to his over-zealous sentiments regarding chivalry."

"Uh-huh." She almost looked amused.

"The warrior woman means well, I am sure; but she has spent a time encased in a prison of stone – which has not helped to even her temper at all, it would seem. I believe she is a potential liability, and could end up getting us all killed with her reckless actions and lust for battle."

"And Tiax?"

He snorted. "The gnome is quite _clearly_ deranged. Even you must see that – despite what seems to be your tendency to just believe that people are full of character when, quite clearly, they are mad."

She was nodding. "I have to admit, there's something not quite… _right_ about him…"

He rolled his eyes in despair, causing a giggle to erupt from her. This earned her a slightly hurt look from him, though she at least had the decency to appear abashed.

"You know I don't mean to be… well, mean," she said warmly, wrapping her arms around his arm and cuddling into him. "You're just..."

"Too amusing?" he finished for her, turning to her. Her head was now resting on his shoulder and he could smell the scent of her hair, though it was faint indeed. Lilacs and dandelions; it reminded him of Evereska, slightly, and he closed his eyes wistfully. Without thinking, he'd moved closer to her, and lightly brushed the top of her head with his lips in one fond move.

The realisation of what he'd done caused him to freeze momentarily, his eyes opening wide in horror. But, after what seemed like a lifetime, he heard a sigh coming from the girl who was attached to his arm; a contented, peaceful sound, followed by a short burst of wriggling as she made her way even _closer_ to him. And then, gently, he rested his cheek on her hair, and looked out at the fields in silence with her.

They remained there for a long time.

--

The next day, Xan watched as Nuila attempted to quietly dismiss Tiax from the group. The gnome appeared to firstly be outraged by the idea, but this quickly turned into a petty display of reasoning whereby the priest declared that the group were unfit to accompany him on his destiny, and that when his day of ascension came, they would be the first to suffer.

The halflings of Gullykin watched with amusement as he stomped away into the distance, refusing the elven girl's offer to walk with them back towards Beregost. Instead, she just shrugged helplessly and wandered over to the enchanter.

"Are we parting ways with… many?" he asked carefully. To his relief she shook her head.

"I thought that we'd stand a pretty good chance at looking into the Cloakwood area if we all stuck together," she said. "But Tiax… well, he was rather loud, you know? And Jaheira told me there'd probably be a degree of stealth needed to get anywhere near the compound."

"So the half-elves are to accompany us?"

Nuila nodded, the smallest hint of a hesitant smile on her face. "As you said yesterday, they are experienced. Jaheira wants me to continue leading – she says I've grown in the past few weeks, and she doesn't want to hinder that development. But she also wants to help, and my father... Gorion… well, he was their friend."

"And the others?"

"You mean Branwen and Ajantis?" she asked, before continuing at his nod. "Well… I listened to what you said about them yesterday, and you do have a point. But I think we still need them. They're both quite capable, and you said it before, yourself – we stand a better chance while we number many."

"I wish I could truly see it that way, despite my words," he sighed dismally. "The truth is that we venture towards an unknown foe, interred in his underground lair with, probably, an entire army of mercenaries at his disposal to bar our way. It is hopeless, Nuila. Truly, magnificently, _hopeless_."

She nodded sadly. "But we have to do it, don't we? Otherwise, when will it all stop? I need to try and end the attacks on my life, and the others – and you – you all want to find out the cause of the banditry and iron shortage, and this is the next step. I'm just relieved our paths are the same for this part of the journey, because…"

"Because?"

"Because I'm not looking forward to the day when we'll go our separate ways." It was her turn to sigh heavily. He closed his eyes to avoid having to look at her forlorn face.

"You know I will have to go back to my people, to report, if nothing else…" he said. He opened his eyes again. "Eventually. But first, you will have my service, for as long as I can be of aid, in your own quest to find out the identity of your attackers."

She beamed a smile at him and threw her arms around his neck, whispering thank-yous into his ear as he awkwardly placed his arms around her in return.

He saw the druid standing a little away, watching them both with her hawkish eyes


	19. With Kin

**Author's Note: **I couldn't resist, despite my pledges earlier to not include him, but… well, here we go. This is a Coran more along the lines of MtM rather than Discovery/Reclaiming/Kairos. And the song at the beginning is devoted to Coran, because it's the one that always reminds me of him :)

--

_Girl, you'll be a woman soon,_

_Please, come take my hand_

_Girl, you'll be a woman soon,_

_Soon, you'll need a man_

_-- Urge Overkill, Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon_

--

For a while, Xan allowed himself to silently consider the fact that they _might_ survive their task in Cloakwood Mines. Travelling west and away from Gullykin led them straight into another batch of bounty hunters, which were easily despatched, and then into the path of a crazed woman with a glowing green jar.

A glowing green jar Imoen just _had_ to see.

The woman, crazed as she was, screamed at the woman approaching her, and threw the container to the ground. Then she promptly died. As if that wasn't bad enough, a large and unfriendly ogre mage had appeared.

Suddenly it became apparent who Karhk was, and who Carsa had _been_.

But the group managed to overcome the ogre, passing him by only to be accosted by another mad human – this time a mage who was trying to train two slimes to do... something. For once, everyone took Xan's advice, and they gave him a very wide berth.

They topped up their supplies in Beregost, and spent one night there where Nuila shared her reverie with Xan once more. This time he witnessed, first hand, the day where Gorion had valiantly tried to persuade the girl to be a bard. And when she'd come around in the morning, she'd given him a very sheepish look, and pinked in colour all the way up to the tips of her ears. It was endearing, really – the memory of her singing, however, was not quite as fond.

She wasn't a _bad_ singer, he supposed; had she been human, she would have been passable. But for an elf, she was incredibly poor and seemed to have no comprehension of the way some songs should be sung. Why her foster father had thought she'd make a good minstrel, Xan would never know.

Before he knew it, they were trudging through the edge of the Cloakwood forest, grim expressions on all faces as they tried to keep their noise down to a minimum, while keeping a careful eye out for any signs of recent activity. Nuila walked alongside Jaheira, the women conversing only occasionally when they spied something. Khalid accompanied Imoen, while Ajantis and Branwen demonstrated their increasing closeness. Xan was left to walk alone; but he was content with this. The alternative would have been to have Tiax keeping him company.

He was aware of the reputation Cloakwood had. Many spoke of the forest with fear, and told tales of how it was wilder than any other wood in the area. It was said to be a home to many a dangerous creature – giant spiders, especially, were known to roam the eastern edge, and Imoen was currently employed to check everywhere for any signs of webbing or silk. Their progress was slow, but Xan was in no rush. There was no need to hasten themselves to their inevitable doom.

An hour, maybe two, had passed when he heard the sound of rushing water. The druid waved for them to head in its direction and they soon emerged from the trees into a small clearing at the banks of a fast-flowing and deep-looking river. Xan sighed dramatically.

"You're not going to suggest that we _swim _across, are you?" he asked distastefully. Jaheira gave him a strange look.

"Not at all, mageling," she said, her accent more pronounced than normal with her deliberately slow speech. She gestured downstream and offered him a civil, but not totally warm, smile. "There is a bridge to the west. We will cross there."

He nodded, sighing as Imoen darted past him, giggling about something or other. Nuila called for them to break for a few moments; the young human girl popped up again at his side, pestering him for a new scroll to study. He sighed, as was obligatory, and made a few remarks about the pointlessness of it all, but was secretly pleased at her enthusiasm. He had expected her interest to fade long before now, and for her human concentration to have moved onto the next passing fad before becoming bored once again.

He flicked through the scrolls he had, nodding when he found the one he'd been looking for. Wordlessly he passed it over to her eager hands, ignoring her curious and excited look.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "What is it?"

He gave her as hard a look as he could muster. "Why don't you study it and find out?" he suggested acerbically. She stuck out her tongue at him and scampered off to sit at the edge of the bank, kicking her boots off to dip them into the running water while she read. He turned to see Nuila standing by his side, a smile on her face.

"You're so good with her," she remarked quietly. "I've never seen her become so devoted to anything before."

"She has a natural aptitude," he shrugged. "If she can maintain the interest, I would imagine that she has the potential to become quite powerful with minimal effort."

The elven girl chuckled. "She'll like that, then. Doesn't really like it when she has to _try_ at anything, which is why she decided _not_ to become a master thief. So... what scroll was it?"

"Just another minor cantrip," he said. "But this one will protect her a little. It will be weak initially, but will improve as her understanding of the arcane grows."

"Sounds nice," Nuila remarked. "But you still haven't said what it is..."

He smiled wryly at her. "An illusion cantrip. You have seen others use it against you, the mages who have managed to surround themselves with mirror images."

Nuila nodded. "Then yes, that does sound useful. And I... I admit I am relieved that you have chosen to give her something to help her protect herself. I worried that she might be more preoccupied with spells that look impressive rather than ones that are useful. Still... when she realises what it is..."

At that moment there came a squeal from Imoen, which was swiftly followed by a hushing noise coming from Jaheira and stern glances from Ajantis and Khalid which were promptly ignored. Branwen's throaty laugh diverted their attention to the warrior priestess, while the pink-haired girl leapt to her feet and rushed over to Xan, throwing her arms around him.

"Oh gosh, it's great, it really is, and I'll learn it and show ya how good I am, you'll see, and then you'll really _believe_ that I can do this, and I'll be so amazingly powerful that no one will stand in my way, and before long I might be able to teach someone else how to read and scribe these things and wouldn't that be _FANTASTIC?!_"

"Eh... yes?" Xan ventured, staggering away when she eventually released him. Nuila giggled as her pseudo-sister padded away again to properly work on the scroll now that she'd managed to identify it, and then took Xan's hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said simply, smiling at him with obvious fondness before turning away and heading towards her previously discarded pack. He watched her go, only vaguely aware of the faint smile on his lips.

He felt the druid's scrutinising gaze on him again, though.

--

"So… Coran," Nuila said, her face remaining constantly impassive as she looked directly at the elf who had just introduced himself to them. "What are you doing out here on your own?"

Xan would have sworn on anything that Coran's eyes lit up at that precise moment; not only had the other elf allowed his eyes to quite openly linger on Nuila's robed body, but now he was standing directly in front of her, mere inches away from bodily contact!

"A bit of business, my sweetling, that is all," the elf drawled lazily. "In fact, it has been concluded, and quite satisfactorily too…" he continued, his eyes now roaming across her face while he smiled. Xan switched his attention to the girl; to his annoyance, there was a slight smile playing at her lips.

"I am glad things have worked out well for you," she remarked pleasantly. "But I am afraid you will have to excuse us; our own business is urgent, and we can brook no hold-ups."

The elf named Coran looked momentarily stunned as Nuila gracefully side-stepped around him, waving to the others to keep marching. But then he'd turned to face her once again, and darted forward, reaching out to grab her hand in his own. She raised an eyebrow at his boldness, but stopped.

"It cannot be so," Coran said, raising his free hand to gently rub against Nuila's cheek. She remained motionless. "For a moment I believed that Hanali herself had seen fit to reward my hunting skills with the gift of your company, but now you tell me that I was mistaken? That you are not the answer to my prayers, and not the vision I've dreamt of?"

Somewhere behind Xan, Imoen made a retching noise. As loathe as he was to admit it, the enchanter found himself agreeing with the sentiment. Branwen was clicking her tongue impatiently, glaring at the strange elf with almost as much suspicion as Jaheira. Only Khalid seemed to be nonplussed by the whole affair.

"I'm afraid not," Nuila said gently, detaching herself from the elf's hold and holding up a hand warningly as he looked set to put an arm around her shoulder. "And much though I am… complimented… I think, by your words-"

"I only speak the truth, and from the innermost parts of the heart," Coran interrupted. "Although, I can be persuaded to speak from other angles as well…" He gave Nuila a lascivious wink. To Xan's horror, she broke out into an amused smile, and the mischievousness in the strange elf's eyes only increased.

"Begone with you!" she said, waving her hand at him half-heartedly. "You'll do nothing but hold us up, and we need to move on before the darkness falls."

"You heard her, elf," Jaheira said sharply. "You have had your fun, and now you would be well advised to make yourself scarce."

Coran gave a dramatic clutch at his heart as he turned to the druid, and displayed a face full of sorrow for all to see. "Such cold, cold words to be spoken; and not even just in cruel jest?"

The half-elf snorted and stalked off, shaking her head in either despair or disgust. _Or_, Xan pondered, _perhaps both_.

"Sweetling!" he called out, turning his large eyes back to Nuila, who looked at him hesitantly, before glancing back to the two Harpers. "I believe that we have met for a reason, and I am willing to offer my services to you for a while if you will only allow me the pleasure of walking by your side, and gazing upon the vast quantities of beauty contained within such a divine group."

Jaheira rolled her eyes and shrugged at Nuila. Khalid only offered the girl a smile before nodding his head to the strange elf. Even Branwen and Imoen had slight smiles on their faces. Only Ajantis looked as outraged by the idea as Xan felt; and thankfully, the paladin wasn't going to sit by quietly.

"You will not allow this wretch to travel with us, will you, my Lady?" he asked searchingly.

"Ah, I didn't realise you travelled with a man of the plate," Coran said, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the aspiring knight. "You know what they say about such fellows, don't you my sweetling? No? It goes something like… 'Clad in iron, a reliable brother; in softer times, not much of a lover'…''

Ajantis' mouth dropped open, and his face quickly darkened to an expression of fury. Imoen had her hand clamped over her mouth, the glee apparent in her eyes, and Branwen had raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. The two Harpers were exchanging a glance, but Coran's eyes never once left Nuila's, and controlled as she was, even Xan could see the traces of amusement lingering in her expression.

"What service can you offer us?" she asked, holding her hand up at Ajantis, this time, preventing the paladin from retorting to the elf's lyrical claim. "And would you not wish to know of our intent before agreeing to work with us? You have no idea as to what we may be planning."

Coran flashed a smile at her, and threw his cloak back, showing off the large sword and bow strapped to his back. Then he pulled down his pack, allowing it to drop to the floor, and opening it at one side for her to see in. Xan couldn't make out what it was, but Nuila had a good look in, and then drew back, her nose wrinkled.

"The smell will be worth it, sweetling; the head of a wyvern is a magnificent prize, and it is a difficult foe to better. As you can see – I _have _bettered one, and that should tell you enough about my skills!"

Xan watched as Nuila looked over to the Harpers. They offered small nods in return, and they both almost appeared impressed by Coran's claim.

"And as for your goals…" he shrugged, seemingly indifferent. "I wager that it'll be a challenge and an experience both, and if it turns out to be that we're just too different as sorts, then I'll take my leave from you with no hard feelings and no claim to any of the treasure we'll have gathered in that time. Fair?"

Nuila grinned at him. "Fair," she agreed.

"There is just one more thing, my beauty," Coran said, hoisting his pack over his shoulder once more, and manoeuvring around so he was walking closely by Nuila's side. "I tend to find that I am at my best when kept in the company of a beautiful face… and since there seems to be no shortage in this company, I wondered if I could be as bold as to request the pleasure of yours during our long… lonely… walks?"

Xan watched as they wandered off together, Nuila throwing him a helpless glance before turning her attention back to the rogue, and Branwen quietly appeasing Ajantis' annoyance with their new addition. He sighed heavily, starting when he realised that Imoen was standing beside him. She gave him a sympathetic look, and patted his arm.

"Don't worry about it," she said encouragingly. "Nuila's not the kind to be swept away by some fancy words and charming smiles."

Somehow, this didn't make Xan feel any better.

--

They camped deep within the woods on the evening they'd met and joined with Coran. The elf was effortlessly melding into the group, acting as if he'd been with them for months, and not just minutes. Xan felt highly irritated by it all.

"An' so, when I cast it, it'll make another me appear!" Imoen said triumphantly. "An' when I get a bit better, there'll be more than one – there'll be several of me!"

Coran's eyebrows rose as he lay on the grass, propped up on his elbows, listening to the pink-haired girl. "Such a tantalising proposal," he murmured, studying her form appraisingly. "It's almost enough to convince me to give you some peace and quiet, and return to our… chat, a little later."

Imoen just nodded distractedly, having missed his lewd look and implied suggestions. Xan clenched his spellbook tightly, all too aware of his tenseness as he sat, leaning against the rough trunk of a large oak tree, attempting to prepare himself for the long march ahead of them the following day. Branwen was praying silently at the far side of the fire, Ajantis sitting not too far from her side as he lovingly polished his sword. Jaheira was huddled over the pot on the fire, occasionally taking sips from an iron ladle that she was using to stir the contents with, before grimacing, and adding some more of the local foliage in an obvious attempt to make their unappealing meal less foul than it already was.

Nuila and Khalid were nowhere to be seen. The half-elven man had been sent to scout around the area by his despotic wife, and Nuila had been ordered to accompany him to pick up some, apparently, valuable skills. The girl had just signed resignedly and obeyed, dragging her feet initially as she wandered away from her sister and their new elven companion. Xan had been relieved; until then, the three had been chatting together animatedly, with the two young girls giggling frequently together, while Coran's eyes sparkled and shone with mischievousness.

Now he was trying to keep Imoen's attention, but the girl had remembered her new scroll, and had pulled out her spellbook, parchments and quill, and was only half-heartedly paying attention to him. It was only when he showed any interest in her arcane learning that she'd pause in her work and give him the attention he seemed to crave.

Xan felt a smug satisfaction about that, though he kept his face carefully neutral and impassive, and pretended that he was paying no attention to the world around him. He had spells to memorise, anyway, though he was finding it hard to apply the appropriate concentration. More and more frequently he would find himself glancing up and over towards the trees that Nuila and Khalid had disappeared into some time before, hopeful of their safe return. And even when he privately berated himself for the needless worry he was feeling, he was unable to focus enough on the runes and sigils, sighing as they swirled across the page before his eyes, defying his attempts to commit them to memory for another day.

"You look troubled, mellonamin," came Coran's melodic voice. The elf was giving him a sidelong look, his face remaining mostly turned towards the fire. "Is there something you need to share with your trusted companions?"

Xan felt his annoyance grow, but composed himself with the ease of one who's had years of practice.

"It is not," he stated stiffly. "And even if it were, _you_ are not one of my trusted companions."

Imoen's eyes darted up from her book briefly; Xan wondered at her natural instinct for picking up on those moments in the party where her natural curiosity would find nothing but delight and intrigue. The other elf, however, looked unbothered by the cold response.

"We are kin!" he exclaimed, flashing a dazzling smile to both Imoen and Jaheira, the druid having given up with her attempts at seasoning the stew, and seemingly resigned to just letting it boil on its own. Then Coran's eyes turned to settle on him properly.

"They are charming, are they not?" Coran asked, using their native tongue and an innocent tone to hide his meaning from those who couldn't understand. Xan flinched slightly, and his eyes darted to Jaheira; to his dismay, the druid was frowning, seemingly ignorant of her ancestral language.

"And there are so many of them, too!" the elf continued, his confidence growing as he sighed with obvious contentment and gazed around at the group. "Surrounded by such beauties… and the women who carry them are pleasing to the eye as well!"

He laughed at his own joke, and Xan quietly fumed inside. He savagely thumbed through his spellbook, determined to force himself, somehow, to concentrate on the arcane rather than the _inane_.

"Of course," Coran continued, adjusting his position so that he was leaning over towards Xan conspiringly. "The human girls are fair enough for flowers that are such a common sight; and the half-elf is harsh and strict, with a hard tone and a stern eye – which is devilishly attractive to me! But there is something about the one that shares our blood, don't you think, that is both striking and captivating to the senses, and fills my mind with wondrous thoughts and desires…"

The elf paused to sigh dreamily, before fixing Xan with a very knowing, fairly lewd expression. "Of course, mellonamin," he chuckled, "it might be the fact that her robes can cover her skin, but do little to hide the curves of her body when she stands with the sun at her back, and if I squint just like… _this_…" He screwed his eyes up, still grinning. "Then I can imagine almost exactly what she'd look like—"

There was a dull slapping noise, and Xan jumped slightly as he tore his stony glare away from Coran and noticed that the druid had moved from her place by the fire. She was now standing over the roguish elf, scowling down at him darkly as he clasped one hand to his ear, nursing it in the wake of her firm clipping.

"From the moment I saw you I had my doubts about you," she said, speaking fluently in their mother tongue, her eyes fixed to Coran. "You will be advised to note that I will not tolerate any such notions from you when you travel in _this_ group and among these young girls! If you wish to travel with us and aid us in our goals, then so be it; but be warned that I will be keeping my eye on you, and if you take even _one single step_ over the line of decency, I will make you sorry you ever happened across us. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Coran muttered darkly, squirming himself around until he sat in a huddled, sulky position, not daring to meet the druid's eye.

"Good," the half-elf said with some satisfaction. "Then we need speak no more of it." She then turned and strode off towards the bedrolls strewn around at the far side of their camp, but paused halfway there, and slowly turned around to look at Xan. He met her eyes uncomfortably, holding her gaze for what seemed like an eternity, though it could only have been for a few seconds. Then he thought she almost smiled, turning away again, and resuming her journey.

He sighed heavily, only finding the barest trace of amusement in Imoen's combined expression of confusion and curiosity, and willed himself to find the concentration to be able to study the words before him before fatigue and exhaustion set in.


	20. Cloakwood Mines

**Author's Note: **Again, it's been a while...

* * *

_Something that is out of our hands_

_Something we will never understand_

_It's a hidden law_

_The apple falls_

_Destiny calls_

_I follow you_

_- Depeche Mode, The Bottom Line_

* * *

The path sloped gently up the hill, a tall wooden palisade bordering either side and making the route feel more constricted than necessary. Birdsong filled the air, the dawn chorus sounding louder to Xan than it ever had before; and every step they took on the muddy trail was like a signal of their approach to the guards, who would undoubtedly be holed up in the building they were heading straight for.

They were within the Cloakwood Mines compound, having managed to bring down the guards at the entrance with a combination of stealth and surprise. Coran had, to Xan's chagrin, excelled at the task – using the cover of the surrounding shrubs to slowly sneak up behind the sentries, throwing some stones while they looked the other way, to disturb the horses tethered outside the stables. And as one had gone to investigate the source of their agitation, he'd struck; silently and deadly, dragging the corpse back into the foliage with him and waiting for the second guard to return.

And when he had, Coran had displayed his patience, allowing the man to pass him by fully before he leapt from his cover in an ambush, claiming his second kill. The others had quickly and quietly rushed to join him, expecting at least a dozen more guards to appear, but none came. The dawn patrol was light, and Jaheira urged them move onwards swiftly and take advantage of their luck.

They'd only just rounded the stables, however, when they came face to face with more hired mercenaries. These knew Nuila by name, and Xan's blood had frozen in his veins as they addressed her. Her response to them had been cold and short, and they were thrown into battle before he'd realised what had happened. Somehow they'd survived; he wasn't sure how, but he'd been whispering his thanks to the Seldarine as they made their way onwards, Imoen delightedly examining the 'prizes' they'd picked up from their most recent victims.

Eventually they were at the summit of the small hillock, huddled together in the shadows of the palisade at the far side of the clearing. The wooden structure they were heading towards loomed into the sky, more of a tower than a simple hut. Large gears and pulleys were vaguely visible from their vantage point, the mechanisms for the mine's lift at the other side of the structure. Xan could hear the whines and rattles faintly, and he suppressed a shudder. He didn't want to be here at all.

And so he was surprised when Nuila appeared by his side – but pleasantly so, though he could not help but feel embarrassed by the attention, as the others would undoubtedly have noticed, and would recognise his weakness. Quietly, she took his hand in hers, and led him a little away from the group, where Jaheira and Khalid were devising the next stage of the plan.

"It's not like last time," she said softly. "You won't become trapped here. We would never leave you."

"You may not have a choice if you're lying dead at my feet," he mumbled, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. Her words had touched him, despite his awkwardness, and he was unsure how to reply. She gave him a bemused look.

"True enough," she replied lightly. "But should that happen, the onus is on you to escape; taking all our bodies with you, of course, to ensure we get a proper burial."

She was smiling at him; there was no fear in her eyes, no worry in her expression. He wished desperately that he could let himself be assured by her confidence, but he couldn't; not yet. He let out a long sigh.

"Your use of humour as a defence against my logic does not change the likely outcome at all." He looked past her, towards the path they'd ascended and over the sides of the palisade to the trees of Cloakwood that surrounded them. It felt as if there was a powerful magical force lying between him and the freedom he would feel there, at the other side of the palisade, rather than just several logs, tied together to form a sturdy wall. He couldn't bring himself to look back around at the mine's entrance; he couldn't bear to think of what lay ahead.

She squeezed his hand. "Do you trust me?" she asked. He looked into her eyes sadly.

"I barely know you, Nuila," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The time we've travelled together has been short; a tiny fraction of my life. But… but I will say this. I've known others for longer who I have trusted less than I want to trust you."

She seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nodded and moved closer to him, wrapping her two arms around his left and resting her head against his shoulder.

"Well, just remember that I will be there," she said. "I mean, should you… If you need to…" Then it was her turn to sigh as she pulled herself away from him, seemingly reluctant, offering a small, shy smile. "You know what I mean. I hope."

He nodded just the once, following her as she casually wandered back towards the others; ignoring pink-hair's lascivious wink, but cringing openly as Coran patted him roughly on the back and nodded knowingly towards their monk leader. Thankfully, Nuila seemed completely oblivious, listening intently as Jaheira and Khalid went over their thoughts with her. Xan pushed his way past Branwen and Ajantis, the two humans inspecting their weapons and armour, and scowling at him as they made way for his escape from Coran.

And then there was a low rumble, and the earth shook gently underfoot as the wheels of the lift's mechanism began to turn slowly, the pulleys creaking loudly behind them. He glanced over to the tower and was filled with a sickening sensation, and a terrifying feeling of claustrophobia and abhorrence at the idea of descending into the bowels of the earth. The others had exchanged glances, Jaheira signalling that they needed to make their move then, and one by one, with Nuila in the lead, they started jogging over to the tower. With a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh, Xan followed.

* * *

The mine was not like the one at Nashkel. For one, it was still very much in active use and the miners were overjoyed to see people who were not part of the guard. Xan followed dourly as they wound their way through mile after mile of winding tunnel, until suddenly they reached a larger cavern. It looked to be used as a storeroom of sorts, with crates lining one of the walls, and the tunnel continuing off into the distance. Two guards were quickly despatched, and Imoen was quick to find a bunch of keys on one of their bodies.

Nuila took them, and with Jaheira, she cautiously opened a wooden door set into the granite wall. The door creaked open, and the group filed through, Xan noting Imoen's gasp before he was able to make out the surroundings for himself.

They were in the holding area for a makeshift prison. Shackles adorned the wall, and a few crude cells had been carved into the stone. While barely big enough for two humans, some of them had as many as five or six men crammed in. None of them looked very well.

"Get the doors," Jaheira said quietly to the elven girl. Nuila nodded, her hands shaking slightly as she tried different keys in the locks. Khalid set about freeing those in the shackles, the metalwork old and rusted and breaking easily at his determined hits. The imprisoned miners tried to talk, but Jaheira hushed them, ordering them into groups where she could assess for wounds and injuries. Branwen and Ajantis were then signalled to administer healing while the druid instructed Imoen and Coran to search the room outside for food and bring in whatever they could find.

Xan, feeling helpless, went to Nuila.

"Let me," he said, gently taking the keys from her hands and quickly trying each in turn on the cell door until he heard the click, and it swung open easily. She followed him as he opened all the doors, then they stood together, watching the miners being recovered, Imoen and Coran handing out some bread and wineskins that they'd managed to find.

"Are you all right?"

Her voice jolted him back to reality; he'd almost allowed himself to go into a daze, anything to escape the memories of his own, recent capture.

"I am fine," he lied. "Come; we should assist however we can."

She nodded, and they moved into the group, him following her lead as she approached Jaheira and Khalid.

"We cannot just leave them here," she said, looking around at the ravenous men. Most were perking up now they had received some nourishment, and wounds were healing nicely. "We don't know if they would wander out and give our presence away, or if a patrol might happen upon them..."

The druid nodded her agreement. "You are right. We should escort them to the surface, perhaps. There was an empty barn on our way in. If they wait there for our return..."

"_If_ we return," Xan sighed. Jaheira ignored him.

"Khalid – take Imoen with you. Get these men – and any others you pass to the surface. Explain our plan to them – if they decide to brave the woods on their own, then so be it. Then come back to us. We will wait here."

Her husband nodded, calling pink-hair over to help him round up the men and see them out of the mine. The druid sighed as she watched, one hand absent-mindedly scratching her braided hair. Her jaw was set determinedly.

"The passage continues deeper into the mine," she said, a steely glint in her eye. "We should see what lies ahead."

"I will go," Nuila said. "I can be quiet—" She noticed Xan's look. "Quite quiet. I will have a quick look along and just see what lies ahead; I won't go far, and I won't try anything foolish if I see someone."

Jaheira sighed, but Xan could tell as she looked at her surroundings she had limited options. She nodded her asent, Nuila looking grateful to gain the druid's trust. She repeated her promise to be careful, and padded away towards the door.

"Fear not, sweetling; I will come with you and ensure your safety."

Xan clenched his Moonblade.

* * *

"Tell me again where this plug is."

Xan sighed; the day was going very quickly from bad to worse. After pacing the holding room for what seemed like an eternity, Nuila had returned, apparently relatively unmolested by Coran. The cocky elf was still accompanying her, but their ranks had been bolstered by another; a bedraggled and angry dwarf.

"Not far from here; I'd wager ye went past it on yer way down." Yeslick had a plan. To Xan's non-surprise, it involved the real chance of killing all of them. But since this was becoming a relatively routine occurrence, he let it pass.

Yeslick, it turned out, was of the Clan Orothair, the original owners of the Cloakwood Mines. Many years ago his clan had dug too far, breeching a wall that allowed the river to flood in. He was one of few survivors, and he left the Sword Coast to seek his fortune elsewhere. He met a man named Rieltar in Sembia, and confided to him the tragedy which had befallen his clan.

"Then he betrayed me," the dwarf sighed. "He lied to me and fooled me intae givin' him the location. Then his goons captured me and took me here, lockin' me up so I could tell no one."

"And this plug is where Rieltar repaired the original breech?" Jaheira asked, a look of relief swiftly passing her face as Khalid and Imoen returned unscathed from their journey to the surface.

"It is, aye," Yeslick nodded. "But I know how he did it and how it works. I'm sure I can reverse it, too."

The druid nodded. "It is certainly an option. The men are safe above ground?"

Her husband nodded. "Th-they are happy waiting for us. Some weapons were found, and they w-will defend themselves if needed."

Jaheira nodded, beckoning Nuila over. "What do you wish to do now, child?"

If Nuila was upset to be referred to as a child, she didn't notice it. Perhaps she had her mind on other things, perhaps she was growing in maturity. Either way, Xan reflected, she had a thankless task ahead of her.

"This Rieltar is head of the Iron Throne?" she asked. Yeslick nodded. "And it has been people working for him – for his company, at least – who have been trying to kill me." She looked helplessly at Jaheira. "I still don't understand why."

"Nor I, Nuila," the druid admitted. "But we will find out."

Nuila nodded. "We will flood the mines," she said. "But only _after_ we have discovered all we can about this whole mess. They've shown so far that they love their pieces of correspondence; someone here is likely to have some kind of letter or note about me, popular as I am." She sighed heavily, a sentiment he wholly related to.

"Let us go on, for now. We will unplug the mine on the way back to the surface."


	21. Luck

_I can't decide_

_Whether you should live or die_

_Oh, you'll probably go to heaven_

_Please don't hang your head and cry_

_No wonder why_

_My heart feels dead inside_

_It's cold and hard and petrified_

_- Scissor Sisters, I Can't Decide_

* * *

Nuila was correct about the letters. But it didn't stop there. The corridor they'd followed went on for well over a mile, before looping around and leading up to a large hollowed out room that was _full_ of people. Two dozen, Imoen reported, probably more. Many seated around a large, polished table. Most of them looked like guards – which explained the lack of resistance they'd faced thus far. Apart from the odd solitary mercenary posted along the way, they'd encountered only one small patrol. It was hardly a challenge for the group – especially now there were nine of them.

_Nine_, Xan thought. When he was younger, nine had been his favourite number. He'd told his mother that it would be lucky for him through his life. He could've snorted at the memory, were it not for the danger of alerting their enemy. It appeared that nine may well actually signal his doom.

They could go back, of course. But then nothing would be accomplished. He needed the information they sought as much as Nuila did, as he feared the answers he sought were tied with the mysteries surrounding her. And _that_ was a disconcerting thought.

So instead, they were mostly crouched in the shadows, just beyond the light of the hall, listening to the ongoing meeting. And Nuila was a hot topic on its agenda.

A robed man in the middle was droning on about the necessity of keeping the mine secure. There had been warnings of mercenaries investigating affairs in the area, the man stated, and it was of the utmost importance that they were stopped before they could trace anything back to the mine. The irony of this was not lost on Xan as he eavesdropped. Imoen had said the man looked like a mage, his robes were adorned with sigils and runes, and he spoke with a quiet eloquence. The other voice that was often heard was much gruffer, rough in tone and dialect. _The guard captain_? Xan wondered. No doubt they'd find out soon enough. If they were lucky.

Jaheira and Khalid were holding some kind of conversation that involved only the tiniest of hand gestures. Both were frowning, neither seemed to have a resolute plan. Branwen was crouched beside Imoen, the warrior priestess praying silently to Tempus, her eyes closed, her lips moving only slightly. Slightly further back was Coran, the elf's hands idly sliding along his bow as he waited for instruction. The dwarf, Yeslick was next. He wore no armour, but had snatched up a sword from one of the felled guards. Of them all, Xan worried most about him; he had an air of impatience about him. He hoped the dwarf would not act rashly.

By his side, Nuila fidgeted. The menacing spiked dusters that she was so fond of were adorning her pale hands, long and slender fingers stretching and curling, doing their own tiny exercises. Ajantis had been left much further back, the paladin the only one dressed in platemail and it he was too noisy to risk getting any closer.

He closed his own eyes and went through the spells he had at his disposal. A sleep cantrip may work against the most feebleminded in their group, but the presence of at least one wizard was worrying to him. He could try a charm spell, but it would take all of his concentration to battle against another's wits, and the odds were already heavily against them. He could try Confusion, but it would be another risky tactic – a confused foe could just as easily continue their attack, and sometimes be an even greater problem as their natural caution would be thrown to the wind.

He stifled a sigh. He almost wished he'd taken the easy option at the Academy, and could just throw in a fireball or two to help with the problem. _Almost_.

He did have one spell ready, though. It would not last nearly as long as he wished, but he would be able to cast it silently and quickly, before the move was made. It used some of his most precious reagents, his final sprig of foxglove would be consumed by it. But it was unthinkable to not cast it.

Though he scoffed at the idea, he would try to bolster the faith Nuila had in her chosen goddess, and he would bless her with as much magical Luck as he possibly could.

* * *

It was carnage. Xan stood, his legs still shaking as he leaned on the edge of the table, seeking support from it that he could not give himself. He felt as if they'd fought for days – weeks, even. But in truth, the whole battle had been won when he'd pulled everything he possibly had together and let his spell of Emotion flood the room. One by one, the guards had weakened, hopelessness etched on their face; a feeling felt so fiercely by Xan that the Weave had taken from his aura, and enhanced his casting tenfold.

It was still too late, however. By then they'd suffered heavy wounds, though death was held at bay for the immediate aftermath. But much healing had been used to improve the health of the prisoners, and there was little left to go around.

Nuila was sitting in a nearby corner, cradling Imoen in her arms. The human girl was bleeding heavily from somewhere, but the others were busy, unaware of how pale she'd become, how quiet she was. _Nuila, I feel real cold_, she'd said. And the elf has ceased her gently rocking, suddenly trying to remove Imoen's armour with unexpected roughness. Straps were loosened, and the injury found – a gaping hole in her side, flesh torn by the vicious barbs on the arrow that the thief had pulled out in panic.

He saw the horror in Nuila's eyes; he saw her murmur, her hands closing over the wound. He saw the blue glow, and he felt the chill as some unknown power was channelled by the monk. But he said nothing. Imoen's eyes had closed, and the action was over quickly enough. Thankfully, though, he could see the young human's chest rise and fall, quick and shallow breaths better than none at all.

He could not make eye contact with Nuila though.

* * *

They huddled together in the centre of the hall, the weakest in the middle. Ajantis and Khalid patrolled the room's entrances, but there was no big counter attack. Guards appeared, but many turned and fled at the sight before them, and all too often one of Coran's arrows would bring them down before they got very far.

Nuila refused to move from Imoen's side, holding her sister's hand as she rocked on her heels. Branwen had exhausted Tempus' boon, but had begun to tear up the robes from the fallen mage to make bandages.

"Let me put that arm in a sling," she said, motioning for the druid to approach her. The priestess had received a harsh beating from one of the guards, but she insisted that her wounds looked worse than they felt.

Jaheira scowled. "It is fine," she replied curtly, clearly frustrated at her inability to mend herself. Branwen's frown was more than a match for the half-elf's expression however.

"D-do what she says, d-dear. You would insist anyone else d-do the same."

Xan looked at Khalid in surprise. The man was giving Jaheira a stern look, and for a moment the enchanter thought that an eruption of marital disharmony was surely going to get the attention of anyone left trying to guard the mine.

Jaheira opened her mouth then closed it. She exhaled heavily then nibbled at her lip. Finally she gave a curt nod and went to Branwen. "As you would have it."

Khalid nodded his approval, and returned to his lookout duty. Jaheira did not appear overly pleased, but the priestess appeared to care little. She deftly bound up the limp arm, her fingers flexibly tying a secure not behind the half-elf's shoulder.

Coran was still somehow smiling. "It's just a flesh wound," he'd murmur whenever anyone approached. Xan was no cleric, but even he knew could see that it obviously wasn't. He'd been hit by an arrow laced with poison, and also had taken the brunt of the magical attack from the enemy mage. He was weakened to the extent that his sword lay on the ground, too heavy for him to comfortably hold. Xan was surprised he still lived; yet he did, happily proclaiming that Lady Luck herself walked with him.

But luck had been with Nuila. Of them all, she was the least harmed, and his heart had been gladdened to see it. She had come close to being impaled by a spear, cleaved by a sword, and a stray lightning bolt had missed her head by inches. No one had made any remark upon it, but Xan had kept a careful eye on her at every opportunity.

_Luck_. He wanted to believe that the spell had been a fool's errand, but the evidence was there to suggest otherwise. _Perhaps _I_ am becoming the fool_, he thought morosely.

And then there was Yeslick. The dwarf, dressed in his tattered rags, had charged blindly into the fray, a multitude of Clangeddin blessings surrounding him; he positively _glowed_ with holy aegis. He was unconscious now; the multitude of wounds he'd gathered too much for him to bear when his God's assistance had worn off. Jaheira had used the last of Silvanus' blessings to prevent the worst of the bleeding. The other wounds had been dressed by Branwen.

"We need to rest," Jaheira said. "But this is not an ideal location. Our presence must be known by now, and our supplies are diminished. We have little left to give except for brute strength and endurance."

"We should get Imoen to the surface," Nuila said. "Yeslick too. And Coran perhaps."

"I am fine, sweetling. A brief respite and I will be _all_ yours, once again."

Nuila was shaking her head. "This is madness. It was madness to think we could even survive this. "

"But we have," the druid replied flatly. "And we need to take advantage of this while we can."

Nuila sighed, but nodded her agreement. "Then what is our plan?"

"We must go on," Branwen stated. "Their defence is in disarray, and we cannot afford them to become regimented once more." Jaheira nodded her agreement.

"But you are right," the druid went on. "Some of us will not be ready to face this battle." She frowned, looking around the room. "It is a defensible enough place, for now," she mused. "Imoen and Yeslick shall stay here. I will guard them, with Branwen's assistance. Coran can rest, and assist when ready."

"And the rest of us strike onwards." Nuila wasn't asking. She knew what the druid intended. Without waiting for anyone to speak, she gently disentangled her hand from Imoen's and stood up. There was a steely glint in her eye that Xan hadn't noticed before.

"We'd better get moving then."

* * *

"Do you have much left in the way of spells?" she whispered to him. They were standing outside a large oaken door, the body of one more guard lying at their feet. He'd tried to beg for his life, told them that their fight was with Davaeorn who was in his study. Nuila had hesitated, but Ajantis had stepped in swiftly as the guard pulled a knife from his belt.

Xan sighed and rummaged through his pouch. "Magician's amusements," he admitted. "I can conjure a cloud of glitterdust, or mayhaps you'd prefer a spray of colours? We are _doomed_ Nuila. I have nothing that will be helpful for this battle; my skills are spent, and it would appear that my life is about to follow suit."

Normally she'd smile or laugh, but she just nodded distractedly, a grim look at Khalid enough to tell him that there would be no persuading her to go back. He shook his head, pulling apart various leaves, roots, vials and feathers. He had _nothing_. It was futile.

"We go," she said suddenly, her hushed conversation with Khalid and Ajantis over. The door was swung open, and she marched in under the pretence of boldness; a boldness for a fight they could not possibly hope to win.

But then he found the bearclaw.

* * *

"I'm only h-his apprentice! I don't know a-anything! I swear!"

"Tell me who he works for!" Nalia's hand was firmly around the young boy's neck and her strength alone was keeping him pinned to the wall. He'd tried to fight, of course, but bookish boys turn to magic for a reason, Xan noted sourly. His attempts had been in vain.

"The Iron Throne, miss," the boy replied. They'd found him cowering behind the desk when Davaeorn had fallen. The mage hadn't gone down easily, but Xan's dispel spell had greatly helped to puncture his defences. Khalid had helped a limping Ajantis back to the others, Nuila happy to scour the room with Xan. The apprentice hadn't even dared to try and make a dash for it.

"The Iron Throne?" Nuila gave him Xan quizzical look.

"They are a merchant consortium in Baldur's Gate," the enchanter replied, surprised by the answer. "I know little of them."

"Master Davaeorn was writing to one of the leaders," the boy squealed, wriggling furiously as Nuila's hand pressed that little bit harder. "There's letters in his desk."

She didn't move, but looked to Xan and nodded over to the desk. "Be careful," she warned. "There may be traps."

Xan sighed and approached the desk. It was ornately carved and polished to such a degree that he could almost see his reflection on the panels. Quills and inkwells were neatly stored in one corner, but the rest was covered haphazardly with papers and books. Xan had no idea where to start looking for anything untoward; the whole piece of furniture looked innocent enough to him.

"Perhaps I can help?"

He groaned internally as Coran slipped into the room, the other elf flashing a magnificent smile to Nuila as he swaggered to the desk, one hand dramatically clutching his side. "Be careful, there," he warned Xan, pushing past the enchanter as he used his free arm to point to one of the drawers. "A simple device; the cord running from the handle to... ah, this rune here. Clever... but not clever enough!"

Xan stalked away as his kinsman disarmed the trap, Nuila watching the colourful elf with a faint smile on her lips. When the desk was proclaimed to be safe, she released her grip on the boy's neck.

He stood there, too afraid to move.

"Go," she said roughly, giving him a not unkind push towards the door. He fled.

"Was that wise?" Xan asked. "Who knows what reinforcements he may be able to muster."

"Him?" She shook her head. "And anyway, he'll never get past Jaheira." She gave the enchanter a wicked smile. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, well, well," Coran muttered, sifting through some of the papers on the desk. "This mage was a keen scribe, I will say that for him. But his attempts at poetry were..." He wrinkled his nose as he perused a piece of parchment. "Dire."

"Is there anything of use?" Nalia asked somewhat impatiently, picking up some of the papers herself to get a better idea. For a moment it was as if Jaheira herself was present with her no-nonsense attitude. But that image quickly vanished as she suddenly squealed, waving a piece of paper around.

"Take it," she said to Coran. "Take it _all_."


	22. Safety

_Right from the start you were a thief, you stole my heart,_

_And I your willing victim._

_I let you see the parts of me that weren't all that pretty,_

_And with every touch you fixed them._

_- Pink featuring Nate Ruess, Just Give Me A Reason_

* * *

The Friendly Arms Inn had been a welcome sight to Xan when he saw the watchtowers rise above the forest canopy. The expedition to the mines had been a traumatic success, and an episode he wished firmly closed and put behind him.

The journey had taken them almost three times as long as it would have had they all been well and able to travel. Yeslick and Imoen were unable to walk unassisted, and despite Coran's bravado, the elf was easily tired and needed to rest often. Even with prayers being performed every evening and dawn and blessings for healing being renewed, there was little improvement in the health of the three. Jaheira's arm was mended, though, and Branwen's injuries had faded with her entreaties to Tempus.

Nuila had managed to come to an arrangement with Bentley, the innkeeper, to rent a small suite to ensure their privacy; four rooms sharing a small common room with open fire and comfortable seating. Jaheira had approved, though she chided Nuila for telling Bentley so casually of their accomplishments. The monk had shrugged tiredly; the recounting of a good deed had secured them the privacy they needed to recover, and she didn't expect news to keep quiet for very long anyway.

And so Jaheira had busied herself with making arrangements. Taking one room for herself and her husband, she'd allocated Ajantis and Coran to one room, Imoen, Branwen and Nuila to another, and informed Xan that he would be sharing with Yeslick. Without waiting for any objections, she'd turned on her heel and retired for the evening. The others had followed suite soon after, conversation minimal, rest sorely needed.

So Xan had spent half a candle pouring over his spellbook, and studying the scrolls Nuila had found on Davaeorn's desk. A couple of them were minor cantrips that he thought would be ideal for Imoen to work on when... when she was better. The pink-haired girl had frightened him the most; previous injury and suffering had always failed to dampen her spirits, but now she seemed to be a shadow of herself. The arrow had been poisoned, the same toxin that afflicted Coran and seemed to be beyond the reach of anyone in the group. She would try to make a feeble joke whenever she caught him looking at her, but her heart wasn't in it. It wasn't like her at all.

The same could not be said for Coran. The elf was the same as ever, though his weakness had caused him to be slightly less forward and a little more muted. But this seemed to bother him little; indeed, he was capitalising on the attention his wounded state gained him from the females in the company, even making big, moon eyes at Jaheira one day. He hadn't repeated that mistake, after she swatted him with her sling.

And Yeslick... Xan looked over at the dwarf, resting peacefully on the bed. Yeslick's physical injuries had been healed, but emotionally he was still lost to them. The spark he'd carried with him to get revenge seemed to have winked out, and instead of an angry dwarven warrior, he was more of an elderly dwarven veteran. It had begun after his injuries were dealt with, after his ancestral home had been flooded for the second time. Nuila had sat with him away from the others and listened to his story. He'd watched her take the dwarf's hands into her own, and say something to him, solemnly, seriously. He'd just bowed his head, aging a century in that one night.

His fight had gone.

Xan sighed and stood up. Though he felt world-weary, he was awake and sleep was bound to elude him. He put his spellbook down, and paced over to the window. It was slightly open, a pleasantly cool breeze bringing fresh air into the slightly musty room. The moon was hanging over the inn, its silvery light casting a glow across the grounds. A few patrons were standing near one of the large oak trees, the faint sound of laughing and voices carried up to Xan's ears.

He turned away from the window and opened the door to the common room, planning to sit a while beside the dying fire in the hope that peace and quiet would lull him into tiredness. The room was empty, the embers in the fire providing nothing more than a dull glow. He settled into one of the armchairs and tried to relax his whole body, closing his eyes and slowing his breath. Many minutes passed, but he felt no better and he wondered if he should just give in and try and slip into a reverie.

But before he could move, he heard another door opening and closing. Soft feet padded across the rug, and then stopped. He opened his eyes to see Nuila standing at his side, a vague look of surprise on her face.

"I didn't realise anyone else was still awake," she said. "May I join you?"

He nodded, shifting over slightly when she decided to take a seat next to him. She looked tired; dark lines encircled her eyes, and her skin was dull and dry. Her hair was lank and limp, the haircut she'd suffered at his hands looking even worse in its unkempt state.

"You cannot rest either?" he asked. She shook her head, but her eyelids were heavy.

"I tried," she said. "But..."

"Dreams?"

She smiled tiredly. "_Dreams_, I could cope with. But these aren't so pleasant."

He nodded. "Understandable," he sighed. "These past few weeks have shown the ugliness that thrives in this world." He paused, giving Nuila a half-look. "How do you deal with the thought that death could strike you at any moment? You walk alongside it in a companiable manner every day."

Her head cocked slightly to the side at the question. "Death? I... I am frightened, I suppose. For so long death was nothing to be feared; we were protected from it in Candlekeep to a large extent, though some of the older sages passed away while we were there. But it was... natural. They were very much at peace with their life and the... the end of it all. Nothing was sudden, nothing was unexplained. And then..."

He said nothing, giving her a few moments to sort her thoughts out. _So naive..._

"Losing Gorion was..." She frowned. "_Difficult._ And why do people say they have 'lost' someone, like they've put them down somewhere and had not the foresight to remember where? Such a flippant phrase for something so... so..."

"Final?" he offered.

"Final... yes. I am afraid of the end. I am afraid of not being."

It was his turn to frown. "But you are of the People, despite your upbringing. The realm of Arvandor awaits. Assuming we don't die a terrible, vicious death. Which I suppose is likely."

She snorted, but there was no humour in her expression when she finally faced him. "Death comes for us all, eventually," she said. "That's what Shistal used to tell us all the time. Imoen used to laugh, she used to..."

Her head dropped and he could see that she was fighting emotions.

"Imoen will... get better," he said, surprised by the effort it took. He long thought he'd lost all hope for anything, but Nuila's easy optimism had ignited something he'd long thought lost. He had dared to hope that Imoen would recover fully, but he kept the thought so close to himself for fear of being proven wrong. "Jaheira has an idea for purging both her and Coran of the poison. She is... confident of its success."

"And you?"

His throat was dry. "Oh Nuila, you know how I feel about such follies. Hopes are raised by someone's ill-thought out plan, and when it fails the only thing you are left with is a feeling of emptiness and despair."

Nuila looked as if she was going to cry.

"But of course," he went on quickly, "the druid is capable and experienced. She would not presume such a plan could work unless there was potentially a positive prospect."

"I just want her to get better."

"I know."

And then she was there, having slid over to be _right_ next to him. Her head was resting on his shoulder as she stared at the embers and her left hand rested lightly on his knee. He swallowed, and then shifted slightly so he could put his arm awkwardly around her shoulder. She took this as an invitation to cuddle closer, her own arm draped across his chest and shoulder.

He was surprised; he was quite _comfortable_.

"I think I am a bit more tired now," Nuila mumbled. "But I don't want to move."

His hand idly caressed her hair without him even realising. "You don't have to. Rest, Nuila. I will be with you."

She mumbled something incoherently, but he didn't ask her to repeat it. Instead he relaxed, listening to her breathing as it became slower and rhythmic. He reached out to her, testing to see if she was open to his presence. She was.

He returned to Candlekeep with her.

* * *

"_I don't understand," Nuila said, almost running as she tried to keep up with the older man. "What has happened? Why today? Why _now_?"_

_The man stopped and turned to face the elven girl, his robes whirling around him. His face was framed by snow white hair and a long, neat beard. He was frowning, but not unkindly, and as he stood still he leant slightly on the carved staff that he held in his right hand._

"_Nuila, my child," he began gently, "I know you have questions. And you will have your answers—" he raised his left hand at her opening mouth, "—but not now. Time is of the essence. Take that gold to Winthrop and tell him it is time. He will know what you need, and you will know yourself when you arrive there."_

"_Need for _what_?" she persisted._

"_Nuila – GO. Return to the keep entrance when you are done; I will be waiting in the rose garden. I _will_ answer your questions, but you must trust me for now and do what I am asking."_

_The girl looked pained, but gave a grudging nod. With a turn she trotted off down the corridor, past the doors leading into the various reading rooms. She wasn't far at all from the entrance to the library and soon enough she was outside in the sunshine, the scent of hawthorn strong in the air._

_She trudged through the gardens, scowling to herself and occasionally kicking the grass like a petulant teenager. A forced smile was managed whenever she passed one of the robed men on their way to the library, but it was quickly replaced by a dark frown. She looked down at the bag in her hands; a small money pouch that Gorion had pushed at her before he'd told her to get ready to leave. She had a peek inside; there was a modest amount of gold, which turned her frown into one more of curiosity. _

"_Ooooh, what chore did _you_ do to get a pouch that fat?!"_

_Nuila's face immediately brightened at the sight of Imoen. The pink-haired girl's cheeks were red. And she sounded slightly out of breath. She stood on her tiptoes, looking over Nuila's shoulder._

"_You haven't seen Tethtoril, have ya?" she asked. "He wanted me to organise some scrolls in the library – the really _old, dusty_ ones. Karan came to get me, but I made up an excuse that Winthrop needed me to clean out the stables. 'Course when Puff-guts found out, he clipped me around the ear and sent me off to apologise and get started..."_

_Nuila tutted. "You'd better run then," she said, conspiringly. I just passed Karan talking to Tethtoril in the Main Hall..."_

_Imoen blanched. "Really? Ah, I'd better run, or they'll have my head... hey!" She gave Nuila a playful push as the elven girl giggled. "Where are you off to anyway? And why are you in such a bad mood? I almost didn't stop to speak 'cause you were glaring like a basilisk!"_

_Nuila's sombre expression returned and she sighed. "Gorion's said we're leaving," she said morosely. "He won't tell me why or where or anything."_

_Imoen's eyebrow rose. "That's _today?_ Oh, er, I mean... that's strange," she said, stepping sideways past Nuila and her enquiring look. "Wonder what he has planned. Anyway, I better go, scrolls to check, you know how it is. Er, have fun!"_

_And with that, the human girl darted off. Nuila watched her go, looking hurt and confused. _

* * *

"_Apparently, 'it is time'", Nuila said, handing Winthrop the pouch Gorion had given her. He looked surprised, but then nodded and accepted the gold. "Follow me," he said, signalling for one of the barmaids to take over at the bar, while he led Nuila back into the storeroom. Without hesitating, he approached a large oak chest, and fumbled in his pockets for the key._

"_Where is it," he muttered. "If that girl has gone an'... Ah, here it is."_

_The chest was unlocked and thrown open. Winthrop pulled out the contents, laying them on the table. Nuila watched in silence._

"_All fer you," the barkeep said. "Gorion's asked me te keep an eye out fer anything ye'd.. well, find useful. The robes are plain, I know, but I got Firebeard to put a small enchantment on 'em last time he visited. They looked like they'd be a good fit; I got Imoen to try 'em on, and... well. There's not that much difference between the two of ye."_

_Nuila nodded._

"_And those," he said, pointing to a pair of brass rings, "they came from Calimport, I think. Got 'em special order, you'll see the 'N' inscribed on 'em. Gorion asked for that especially, something for you to call yer own. Ye... ye do know what te do with 'em?"_

"_Yes," she replied, quietly. She picked the dusters up carefully, running her fingers along the spikes, then slipped them onto her fingers. She stretched and flexed her digits, a small smile creeping onto her face. "They're beautiful," she noted._

"_An' deadly," Winthrop said seriously. "They ain't no toy, Nuila. You be careful with 'em."_

"_I will," she promised, slipping them off and putting them gently on top of the robes. "Is that bag for me?"_

_Winthrop nodded, pushing the pack to the elf. "There's a few bits and pieces in there," he said, shrugging a little. "Bits I thought might help – a potion or two, an old sling I found and a few bullets in case... well, ye know."_

"_Thank you, Winthrop. You've been very kind."_

_The barkeep snorted. "Ah, listen te ye. Ye'd charm the arse off a hobgoblin, ye would." He rummaged in the purse, nodding to himself. "Aye, it's all here as I expected. Yer fingers are too honest; if Imoen'd been asked te take it te me, it'd be at least five coins lighter." And with that he pulled out a handful of the gold, and dropped it into Nuila's backpack. "For emergencies," he said. "Though with Oghma's blessin', ye won't be needin' it."_

_She ran back to the rose garden, her new robes fluttering behind her. Her dusters were safely in her pack, and a piece of ribbon had been found to tie her hair back away from her face. There was no sign of Imoen, and the elven girl sighed and approached Gorion._

"_You are ready?" he asked, nodding approvingly at her attire and packed bag._

"_There are things in my room," she said, hesitantly. "And Imoen – is Imoen coming with us?"_

_The old sage shook his head. "No Nuila, not for now. But fear not, you _will _see her again, once we are settled. As for your belongings; if there was aught there of sentimental value, you'd already have it with you. Now, come – we must go."_

"_Can you not tell me where we are going?" she asked, following the mage as he strode along the path between the rose bushes. Their scent was heavy in the air, and a low buzzing noise was almost constantly present. _

"_I am not yet sure," Gorion replied honestly. "It is something I need to consider, but we must make our way tonight to The Friendly Arms Inn. It is a safe place for us to rest, and I am hopeful that we will meet friends there."_

"_Friends? Like Firebeard?"_

_Gorion chuckled. "No. Friends of mine from when I was... younger. You have met them but once, when you were still a babe in arms. They will be pleased to see how you have turned out, I think."_

_Nuila sighed. "I don't understand the urgency," she continued to protest. "And Imoen didn't even say goodbye. In fact, she acted like she knew I was going, which she can't have. Can she?"_

_Gorion's eyes narrowed momentarily, but he remained silent as they wandered up to the main gates. He nodded amicably to the guardsman, Hull, who in turn signalled for the gates to be swung open. Nuila fixed Gorion with a questioning stare while they waited._

"_Imoen should know naught of what is planned," he eventually said. "Though she has a remarkable tendency to find out information," he added as a mumble. When the gates opened enough, he gave Nuila a bright smile. "Onwards, then. For adventure!"_

* * *

_They walked mostly in silence after they left Caqndlekeep, Gorion quickly diverting them off the road but only giving cryptic answers for his reasons. Though the day had started out bright, it soon became overcast and dark, heavy clouds gathered overhead._

"_There will be a storm," Gorion noted. "We must press on."_

_And so their pace increased as the forest grew darker. Nuila was beginning to feel tired, stumbling occasionally on upturned roots and fallen branches. Her elven infravision combated the lack of daylight, but Gorion had no such natural aid. His magical torch bobbed along beside him until they reached the middle of a clearing, where he suddenly commanded it to fade._

"_Take cover, child. We have been found."_

_Nuila looked all around but saw nothing. A flash of lightning briefly lit up the area, and for a moment she thought she saw the outline of a massive man coming from the trees ahead. But then it was gone. _

"_I see nothing, father," she said, keeping her voice low. "We should move on. This place—"_

_The arrow came from nowhere – a magical conjuration of fire that slammed into her shoulder and caused her to stagger back. She looked at the smouldering hole in her robes with confusion and fear, one hand touching the wound. There was a smell of burned flesh, and something wet was on her fingers. She felt sick._

"_Flee, child!" Gorion commanded. "Go – NOW."_

_She stumbled backwards as they approached; four figures, three of them monstrously tall, all advancing on their position. Gorion squared up to them, the air around him sizzling with magic. Nuila scrambled away to find some cover in the undergrowth, a cold, deep voice booming after her._

"_There is no reason for you to die here, old man. Hand over your ward, and you can walk away."_

"_You know that will never happen," Gorion replied strongly. "You will not have what you seek!"_

_Nuila pulled herself between the trees, throwing herself into the midst of a honeysuckle bush while she tried to watch what was happening. Gorion had begun casting almost immediately, spells lighting up the clearing in a rainbow of colours; missiles dancing through the air, acid spells leaving an eerie green glow, and bolts of lightning streaking away into the far side of the glade. She watched in horror as the smallest of the enemy fell prone to the ground, and then two of the massive creatures were soon felled by the mage's magic. _

_The remaining figure laughed; Nuila had no idea what kind of creature Gorion faced, dressed in monstrous armour, head covered by a grotesque helmet. It wielded a sword as large as Nuila, which it hadn't even bothered to use. Until now._

_Gorion kept casting, but Nuila felt herself scrambling backwards as the man approached, hefting his blade into the air. When he raised it, she brought her own arms up as if the blow was aimed at her. When it fell, she screamed, her call drowned out by the thunder that rolled across the forest. She'd looked away, and couldn't look back as she got to her feet and fled further into the forest._

_She knew Gorion had fallen._

* * *

He was ready for her; though he'd known what he was witnessing, he'd been unable to drag himself away, a macabre fascination with watching Gorion falling keeping him drawn into her reverie. But he managed to pull away, and when he came around he could feel her trembling, beads of sweat on her brow as she wordlessly mouthed her terror. He waited; to force her out could be more damaging than letting her naturally awaken. It wasn't long; he felt her body tense as she woke, a muted cry escaping from her lips. He put his arms around her; he murmured words of soothing and comfort. Eventually her trembling abated, her muscles relaxed again. He continued to hold her, and she seemed content to remain in his arms.

It was a long time before he felt her stir, and she gently pushed herself up to sit next to him looking even more dishevelled than when she'd first come through. She looked _exhausted_.

"Nuila..."

She turned to look at him, and gave him a sad smile which didn't quite reach her eyes. "No more," she said, shaking her head. "No more." Then she reached out and took his hand. "Take me to Evereska. Help me rest."


	23. Inception

_So sit on top of the world and tell me how you're feeling_

_What you feel now is what I feel for you_

_Take my hand and if I'm lying to you_

_I'll always be alone_

_If I'm lying to you_

_Dido – Take My Hand_

* * *

He was aware of Jaheira's presence before the reverie ended. With reluctance he started to withdraw from the memories; a summer day spent wandering the wonders of his home city, a sight he wished dearly to see again. And soon.

As he stirred he felt Nuila shift position, but she didn't waken, slipping into sleep almost instantly. His right arm felt numb, and he delicately managed to withdraw it from around her, letting it rest atop the back of the shared chair. All the time, the druid watched him.

"Good morning," she said eventually. He looked over to her, his mouth suddenly feeling _terribly _dry.

"Is it?" he managed to ask in a croak. "We are alive, I suppose, which is something."

Her lips seemed to curl into a wry smile, but her green eyes – those _piercing_, _shrewd_ eyes – were firmly fixed on him. He couldn't maintain eye contact, couldn't even read her body language. This was worrying – people were usually so _easy_ to work out. But Jaheira was in a class of her own when it came to stoicism.

"We are indeed," she said, "though I have yet to check on Yeslick or Imoen."

"The dwarf was snoring when... I... left..." He flexed the fingers on his right hand, concentrating on his circulation. She kept staring at him.

"No one has come out of their room overnight," he continued, trying to stay composed. "I mean, other than Nuila... as you can see..."

"Yes."

"She was struggling to rest. We shared, ah, memories. It... was unpleasant. For her."

Still staring. Still unblinking. He felt compelled to keep talking, but he wasn't sure why.

"So, we, ah," he swallowed, his throat was _dry_, "tried again. My memory. I think she has managed to rest." He looked down at the elf. She was almost sprawled across his right side, one arm draped across his torso, the other curled into his robe somewhere. Her head was still burrowed into his shoulder, her breathing soft and relaxed. She looked more peaceful than he could ever remember.

But the druid was _still_ looking.

"And, ah," he said, swiftly disentangling himself from their sleeping leader, ignoring her whine of surprise as she woke up as he almost leapt to his feet. "I should check on Yeslick. And wash. So. Yes."

He turned on his heel, trying not to hear Nuila's muffled protests as she curled back up on the chair, trying to get back to sleep. It was barely a half dozen heartbeats by the time he'd reached his shared room and closed the door on the half-elf's eyes – glimmering with a trace of amusement, he realised – but it felt like a lifetime. With the safety of the oak panel between him and those green, green eyes, he sighed heavily and let himself drop onto his bed.

Yeslick was still snoring.

* * *

By the time he re-emerged from his room, neither Nuila or Jaheira were around. Branwen told him that the druid had been talking to Bentley, and that a name had been given who may be able to help with the poison. Nuila had gone with the half-elf and her husband to investigate, but they'd assured the priestess that they'd be back by nightfall.

Xan nodded.

"Ajantis has gone to visit the temple," Branwen noted, her brow furrowed. "He is curious to this Garl Glittergold, but I am not sure what he expects to find. He would be better spending his energy meditating and praying for the days ahead."

Xan nodded his agreement. "It is amazing that we have survived thus far," he sighed. "I fear our luck must surely have now run out and our next move will end in our demise."

The blonde-haired warrior regarded him with an arched eyebrow. "I cannot understand, mageling, why you continue to stay with this group when you see nothing but downfall and tragedy in store."

He offered a shrug in return. "Were it not for the group, I would likely have perished at the hands of Mulahey, dying underground without having seen the sky or smelled the scent of the wildflowers once again. I owe them my assistance, meagre as it is, and since our tasks seem to be linked – for now, at least – it is prudent for us to work together."

Branwen nodded. "And it is not out of fondness for any particular individual?" she asked, her thick accent not hiding her curious tone.

Xan stiffened. "I have a duty to my People, as I am regularly reminded whenever I look down at the blade I carry with me," he replied tersely. "It was an oath I undertook, and no matter how futile it becomes, it is an oath I will endeavour to keep. Even if it does mean my doom."

Branwen just shook her head at his words, standing up from her seat and stretching out her arms and back. "If it is so hopeless, then why do you bother continuing? You contradict yourself at every turn, enchanter, and fool only yourself by not acknowledging what it is that keeps driving you."

"You are as deluded as the others," Xan sighed. "You have obtained your vengeance against the mage who cast you into a stone form, and yet you are here still, fighting a battle that is not yours."

"Tempus would not have me shirk away from this."

"Would he not? Would he care, really? There is no _war_ here, Branwen. There are some individuals who are hopelessly outnumbered by their foes. There will be no glorious victory, or even a valiant death. It will be understated, missed in time, forgotten by anyone involved before the next sun even rises. We will have no bards singing of our pitiful struggles, no historians writing fanciful tales based on our toils."

Branwen snorted. "Talk not of what you don't understand," she said frostily. "I will not turn away from battle; it lacks honour."

"But it is not just the battle that keeps you with us, is it?" he asked. "It is a convenient excuse, I will concede. But while we walk with the armoured simpleton who sees the world in such _vivid_ black and white, you would be loath to leave our company."

He noticed the priestess' cheeks redden and her eyes flashed with annoyance. "You dare question my motives?" she snapped.

Xan simply shook his head. "No. Your motives matter little to me, as long as you are no danger to us. But perhaps you should examine your own reasons for fighting alongside the group before you decide that you know the thoughts of others. Excuse me."

He walked past her, ignoring her pronunciations about the liturgy that dictated her dedication to her god. He gently knocked upon, the door to the room the warrior maiden shared with Nuila and Imoen and opened it a fraction. A quick look inside revealed Imoen sitting up in bed, spellbook on her lap. She looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey, Xan."

He moved into the room, closing the door behind him as Branwen gave him a glare as cold as the barbarian lands she came from. He allowed himself a sigh, brushing away the insinuations he'd so hotly avoided, and took a seat beside the pink-haired girl. A quick look at her spellbook showed that she was studying the spells they'd been working on before Cloakwood.

"You should be resting," he chided. Part of him, though, felt a little bit proud at her dedication. The shutters over the window had been thrown open and daylight was streaming in. Three beds took up most of the space in the small room, two at either side of the door, and Imoen's at the far side of the room, sandwiched between two dressers. A threadbare rug had been thrown down to cover the scratched wooden floor, and a wardrobe hid behind the door.

"I'm not tired," Imoen said. "And besides, I don't want to forget anything just because I haven't had a chance to look at it for a while."

He allowed himself a small smile. "You won't 'forget' anything," he said reassuringly. "Not this quickly, anyway. You are bright for an N'Tel'Quess, but you are human, still. You must concentrate on your recovery before you can progress."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but then blinked at him. "Progress?" she said, her spellbook falling closed as she sat bolt upright, eyes shining excitedly at him. "You're gonna teach me new stuff?"

He gently pulled the tome away, putting it on top of the dresser and out of her reach, and encouraged her to relax back onto her pillows once again. "There were some scrolls amongst the paperwork Nuila found in Davaeorn's study," he said. "Some would be appropriate for you to work with, _when_ you are better."

Imoen pouted at him, but he shook his head firmly. She sighed heavily.

"But I _am_ feeling better," she said reproachfully. "At least... I don't feel as bad as I was. Jaheira came in to see me earlier and said she might have a way to get it out of my body, but she didn't want to give me any details."

"I had heard," he nodded. "They are due back by nightfall, I believe. If Nuila's foolish commitment to luck is to be believed, then we may be fortunate enough to stave off a slow death for another day. Perhaps two."

Imoen giggled. "Two days, huh? That's almost cheerfully optimistic!"

Xan frowned. "Perhaps this poison is contagious. It may be addling my brain as I sit here. Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were."

Imoen gave him a warm smile. "It's nice to know that you care," she said. "We've all been through so much together now. It feels like we have... a family, I guess. Sort of."

Xan regarded the girl with a sigh. She was still so pale, though a spark of mischief and life had returned to her eyes. But even her hair seemed tired; the vibrant pink shade that she was so fond of had become dull and lacklustre, hints of her natural brown shade showing at the roots. She'd closed her eyes as she reclined and Xan looked at her properly, beyond the facade and pretence of the cheerful, light-fingered woman who was full of bravado and levity. He saw a frightened child, torn away from everything she knew and everything that kept her safe. But she was more than that; where others would have fallen apart, Imoen had remained optimistically positive about everything possible.

And so had Nuila, in her own way.

He wondered what would have happened if the girls had endured the past few months alone, without each other to depend on. They were inseparable at the best of times, and could usually be found sitting together, talking on low voices about... well, Xan didn't want to think about that. But there was no doubt that Imoen's confidence and exhilaration balanced finely with Nuila's more serious and levelled outlook on life. They encouraged each other, cried on each other's shoulders, and kept each other right. Without the other, he doubted either Nuila or Imoen would have coped even half as well as they had.

"You've gone all quiet," Imoen noted, her eyes still closed. "Did I say something wrong?"

Xan scratched his cheek, thinking about his words carefully before he spoke. "It is strange to be considered part of a group so... close," he admitted. "I have my own reasons for being here."

Imoen opened one eye and peeked at him. "I know." She smiled mischievously.

Xan groaned. "My _duties_ as a Greycloak mean I must investigate this iron crisis, and the reasons behind it," he sighed. "As well you know. And I would continue to do it, even if I had to alone. It would greatly increase my odds of dying on the mission, of course, but I would do it, regardless. There has been some fortune in finding others who travel the same path. Especially when they appear to not be intent on slitting my throat at the first opportunity."

The girl snorted. "No fun in doin' that," she remarked. "Better to take wagers on when this 'doom' you're obsessed with will hit."

Xan ignored her. "I should let you rest. Should they find a healer with experience of poisons... well, you will need all your strength."

Imoen nodded as he stood, closing her eye again. "Nuila wasn't in bed when I woke up this morning," she said. "But she looked so tired yesterday that I thought she'd sleep for a tenday. Do you know if she... got any rest?"

Xan paused midway to the door. "She did," he said, softly. "But it was difficult for her. She has been troubled by your injuries"

Imoen murmured an acknowledgement. "I'm worried about her too," she mumbled sleepily. "She needs to get some sleep. Thank you for looking after her."

He just nodded, but Imoen was drifting off. Soon he heard her gentle snores, and he quietly left the room.

* * *

Somehow Jaheira had found a man who called himself just 'The Surgeon'. He was Davaeorn's brother, he later found out, and so was well versed in the poisons used by his sibling. He worked through the night to cure the ailed, taking only a small amount of coin from the druid as payment. He left before breakfast, a small bag of supplies and spare antidotes left for them should they require further purging.

The day was spent recovering and relaxing. Jaheira and Khalid spent much of it in the grounds of the Inn, enjoying each other's company. Xan espied them from the windows more than once, initially surprised when he saw Jaheira's face broken out into a wide, genuine smile as her husband whispered something into her ear.

Branwen and Ajantis went out for a walk together, both restless. The priestess was still being frosty towards Xan, and shot him a dark look when the paladin asked if she would accompany him on his wanderings. Xan had carefully avoided eye contact and masked any expression of amusement as he studied his spellbook.

Coran had wasted little time in getting down to the bar to 'meet people'. He'd taken Yeslick with him, insisting that the old dwarf needed to be cheered up. Xan declined the invitation; kin or not, Coran was almost like a different species to Xan.

So Xan had his room to himself for a while. He'd thrown the window open to let in as much fresh air as possible, the musty smell slowly ebbing away. A chambermaid had knocked on the door earlier, to his relief. She'd quickly and efficiently changed all the linen in the room, and ran a damp, scented cloth over the surfaces before wishing him a good day. The result was a faint smell of lavender, rather than the stale smell of sweat and mildew.

To celebrate, Xan had visited the bath-house. After ensuring it was unoccupied, he'd allowed himself a thorough soak which not only left him feeling cleaner, but also more relaxed and feeling slightly more at ease than previously.

And so he was in fairly good spirits when the door flew open and Imoen bounded in, announcing what a lovely day it was and how much better she felt and how much she was ready to learn now she felt better – did she already tell you she was feeling better?!

Following her in a more sedate manner was Nuila; but she was smiling at the other girl as she softly padded into the room, barefoot and dressed just in a simple robe that he'd never seen her wearing before. She gave him a little wave, knowing it was futile to try and get a word in edgewise, and flopped down onto the chair beside the window.

"So, since everyone else has gone out, we thought we'd come and keep ya company," Imoen declared happily, sitting down next to Xan, closer than was strictly necessary. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I _was_ sorting through my tome," he replied dryly, knowing full well that she could see what he was doing for herself. "I am now talking to you."

"Grumpy as usual, I see," the girl said, peering over at his spellbook. "Oooh!" she said excitedly, pointing at one of the more intricate runes, "What does that do?"

"That is the symbol of fear," he said, carefully moving his book away from her hands. "It is currently beyond your capability. But here..." He put his spellbook aside and stood up, beckoning for her to follow him. "I did promise you these when you felt better," he continued, crossing the room to the dresser beside the window. Nuila smiled as she watched him; he began to feel a little self-conscious and concentrated on rummaging through the top drawer. "These should be sufficient for you to work on. And they won't take you long to master, I don't doubt – you are showing an aptitude rarely seen in humankind for magic."

Imoen took the scrolls with a delighted squeal, giving Xan an awkward hug involving arms, paper and pink hair, and then danced towards the door. "I'm gonna go and copy them down," she said in a sing-song voice. "And, uh, I'll let you two have some _privacy_."

Her giggling could be heard as she darted out of the room, closing the door behind her and avoiding the pillow thrown by Nuila. The elven girl was grinning, though, but she carefully avoided meeting his eye as he turned round to face her.

"It's good to see her feeling better," she said, her fingers playing idly with the hem of one of her sleeves. "I am so relieved that Jaheira found help."

"As am I," Xan admitted, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. He left his spellbook to the side, though. "It was disconcerting to see her so weak; she is so full of energy and life. I hope never to see that fade from her."

"Never? You speak like you'll be with us for a long time."

She met his eyes at this; only a ghost of her smile lingered, but her eyes were expectant.

"I have said I will stay with you," he said quietly. "That I will help you with your quest, that I will..."

His words faltered as she stood up and approached him. He moved slightly, inviting her to sit by his side. She did so, taking his hands in her own, biting her lip as she traced patterns onto his palms.

"Do you remember Gullykin?" she asked. "It feels like a lifetime ago; so much has happened since, and there has barely been a moment to regain _that_ moment."

He felt her hands quivering as she spoke, but it was slight. The room began to feel hotter.

"I've been trying to find the right time, an _appropriate_ time," she went on, "to... well, you know. But then we were at Cloakwood, and it was serious, and then everyone was preoccupied, and..."

She sighed. He risked a quick glance up at her; she was frowning as she spoke, the words coming no easier to her than before, it seemed, staring down at their entwined hands. He was desperately aware of how close she was; how _unclad_ she was. Her robe was a pale green colour; it sat on her shoulders, encircling her perfect neck, and then hugged her body, until it hung loosely around her ankles. Yet despite its cover, he could see how thin the material was, and every curve, every muscle on her body was visible beneath it. He swallowed hard.

"You said you'd stay with me, that day," she whispered. "You told me that... that you _loved _me. But that it was hopeless, and mad to consider anything else." Her eyes looked up and met his. "You said you wanted to protect me. And I thought if I gave you time... But then I saw what happened at Cloakwood. Either of us could die at any point."

He managed a mirthless smile. "At least I know you've been listening to me," he said. "Death follows us, Nuila. We take a path that will lead us only to our graves."

"And if that's the case, then I wish to _live_ before I die," she replied simply. She shifted towards him, her hands tightening their grip on his as if she was afraid he'd run away. "You think I am a foolish girl, but I _know_ how I feel. And you have admitted your own feelings."

"Nuila..."

"Shhhh," she said. "Please." Her forehead pressed gently against his, their noses rubbing softly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the voice that was telling him to stop before it went too far. Her lips brushed against his and he offered no resistance, allowing the embrace to linger far past the initial kiss.

Eventually he pulled away as softly as he could manage, his hands still being held intently by the monk. She was smiling dreamily, her eyes closed. He watched her until her eyes opened, and she cocked her head slightly at him.

"You're smiling."

He was.


	24. Courting

_Nothing's greater_

_Than the rush that comes with your embrace_

_And in this world of loneliness_

_I see your face_

_Yet everyone around me_

_Thinks that I'm going crazy, maybe, maybe  
_

_Leona Lewis – Bleeding Love_

* * *

The man behind the Iron Throne in the Sword Coast was called Rieltar Anchev. He was also heavily involved in the iron crisis, having employed Mulahey to taint the ore in Nashkel, and having betrayed Yeslick's friendship to take over the mine in Cloakwood. Studies of the paperwork found in Davaeorn's desk linked Tazok and Tranzig to the operation, both involved with procuring slaves to work in the mine, and hiring bandits to raid the coast.

"It would appear that this Rieltar's plan was to ensure the only sure supply of good iron was coming from _his_ mine," stated Jaheira as she cast her eye over the papers once again. "Any existing iron weapons or tools were to be obtained by banditry and theft. The whole of the Sword Coast would then be at the mercy of the Iron Throne and their supply."

"A bit extreme though?" Nuila was frowning. "I mean, I know mercantile houses can be ruthless, but this... this is surely breaking the law?"

"Only if proof is found," Jaheira noted. "They have been extremely careful with their plans, and the bandits and mercenaries they've employed have been enough to keep the authorities busy. Also, this talk of war with Amn will have put more pressure onto the Dukes of Baldur's Gate. If there was any threat from the south, having iron readily available to arm and armour their troops would be necessary."

"D'ya really think Amn are planning to attack?" asked Imoen.

"N-no," Khalid shook his head. "And r-reports of Zhentarim activity are as f-false, I imagine."

The druid nodded her agreement. "It is convenient for the blame to be placed elsewhere, as it then means that less eyes are watching the true culprits."

"I still don't understand the assassination contracts," said Nuila. "Look at them; some of them refer to me by name, some as the ward of Gorion. But these assassins were sent for me long before I even reached Nashkel, before I even left Candlekeep! If they were just looking for me to stop us prying, then why did they start so early?"

Jaheira was frowning, and Xan noticed her sharing a concerned look with Khalid. Her husband also looked worried, but neither could offer an explanation.

"My lady," Ajantis spoke hesitantly. "You've spoken of Gorion before, and how he was an adventurer before he settled to raise you in Candlekeep. Could it be possible that he was somehow involved in an investigation before you left, and his killers now target you as you are continuing that work?"

Imoen's eyebrows rose as he said this, and she started nodding. Branwen also seemed to be considering his words. Nuila just shrugged.

"I don't see how," she replied doubtfully. "He didn't leave Candlekeep, so I don't know how much he would been able to learn from within. The books were all about history, not current affairs."

"But Firebeard used to come and visit often," Imoen said. "And others; like Khelben!"

Nuila shook her head. "Not for years, Immy. And Firebeard... really? Can you see him being involved in something like this? Interrogating suspects, or exploring rumours?"

Pink-hair sighed. "I guess not."

"Regardless," Jaheira interjected briskly, "they are aware of our interference, and we must remain on guard at all times. This one," she said, waving her hand at one of the parchments, "this Sarevok – it says he is Rieltar's son, and he seems to have taken a personal interest in dealing with anyone getting too close to the Iron Throne. We cannot assume he will stop now, especially since the mine has closed."

Yeslick bowed his head at her words. "Clangeddin's will be done," he muttered. "I hope me ancestors can forgive me the transgression, but that bastard left me wi' nay other option."

"Your ancestors will understand," Branwen said softly. "They would not wish to see your old halls filled with slaves, abused and condemned."

"Aye, ye be right," the dwarf sighed. "An' once again, I escape wi' my life, but little left to show fer it."

"You can come with us," Nuila offered. "I will find enough proof of the Iron Throne's involvement to bring to the authorities, and they will be dealt with swiftly and harshly."

Yeslick chuckled darkly. "Yer idea o' vengeance ain't the same as mine, wee lass. And these old bones have been fightin' long enough over the years. Nay. It be enough te know ye'll be keeping on this path. The road has ended fer me. Bentley's offered me a room so I can stay fer a while, then I will make me way te Mirabar. Some o' me old clan head that way when last the mine was put under water. It seems fittin' that I try an' find 'em before... Well. I be gettin' nay younger."

Nuila nodded. "If you are sure," she said. She didn't seem surprised – no one did. The dwarf had been reflecting on his life during their time at the Friendly Arms; his initial fiery vengeance had faded quickly, neither Nila or Jaheira willing to encourage him in his quest for simple revenge. And with the hope of assistance fading, the lust for retribution had died into a sorrowful acceptance that whatever lay in store for his former captors, he would not be involved in it.

"I am, lass," he said, patting Nuila's hand as he stood up. "I moved over te the new room earlier. Makes things... easier fer me. I wish ye the best in yer hunt. An'... I'll pray every night to Clangeddin fer yer victory."

With that he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped, his years evident. Nuila had a pained expression on her face, which Jaheira quickly noticed.

"Let him go," the druid said quietly. "He will find more peace with his relatives than he will seeking vengeance that he cannot claim."

The monk sighed and nodded, looking around the group. "Where is Coran?" she asked. "If we were all here, I thought we'd be able to make plans."

"I saw him in the common room earlier," Branwen replied. "He was chatting quite animatedly to one of the barmaids."

Nuila rolled her eyes. "The red-headed one? He'll get no luck there. She told me yesterday that she wasn't interested in him; that her husband is due back from the army in a few days, but Coran's free drinks don't go amiss."

Imoen sniggered. "Don't tell him," she said wickedly. "At least this way it keeps him out of trouble."

Jaheira just shook her head at the girls as they giggled. "We still have another two nights paid for here," she said. "We will make our plans tomorrow. But today we should make our preparations. There are several traders who arrived this morning on their way to the Gate. We will all need to browse their wares and purchase anything we think we will need. Ensure weapons are tended, armour is repaired. Plans can be done tomorrow; and then we will head north in two days time."

* * *

He found Nuila in the common room, tucked away in one of the corner tables. She smiled up at him as he approached, her attention returning to her needlework as he sat across from her.

"Have you seen him?" she asked, her needle gliding through the silky robes as she repaired the latest tear acquired in Cloakwood. He frowned.

"Who?"

"Coran. Be discrete! Look behind you, just to the left of the bar."

Xan slowly turned around, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. He saw his fellow elf straight away; Coran was sitting at a table with a buxom, young girl perched on his lap. He was staring at her intently, though it wasn't her face that was getting much attention.

"Oh, Corellon help us," Xan mumbled, turning away again. "Were we not doomed enough as a group, we will end up leaving here to head north with a group of pretty, young maids whose only life skills include batting eyelashes and pouring remarkably large tankards of ale."

Nuila's eyebrow arched. "You think she's pretty?"

Xan sighed. "For a human, she is fair of face."

Nuila nodded, still diligently sewing. "And what about me? Am _I _pretty?"

Xan frowned. "I think you are more than aware of your own... attributes."

She grinned at him as she finished her repair, tearing the thread with her teeth as he grimaced. "Maybe so," she offered, "but sometimes it's nice to be told."

"I see," he said.

She looked at him. "Well?"

He blinked. "Well, what?"

It was her turn to frown, but there was no annoyance in her features. "Tell me I'm pretty!"

"Oh." He coughed. "Nuila," he said, in his most formal voice, "you are very pretty."

She just laughed and shook her head at him, secreting her sewing materials away in a pouch on her belt. "You'll need to work on that," she told him, smoothing out her robes as she inspected her work. "There – what do you think?"

He looked at her robes. The tear in her usual travelling robes had been neatly stitched, the black thread running in measured stitches along the length of the rip.

"It is... very pretty," he replied dryly. This earned him a proper laugh and a swat at his arm.

"Gorion used to think my sewing was acceptable," she said as she folded the robes away. "He said that it was one thing I _was_ good at." She stood up, motioning for him to follow her as she headed for the stairs. "It was about then that he started sending me to the kitchens to practice cooking, and suddenly I'd be asked to babysit on the very rare occasion we had children visiting the inn."

Coran gave them a sly wink as they passed, and Nuila flashed him a mischievous grin. Xan sighed disapprovingly – she was only _encouraging_ him.

"Anyway," she continued as they made their way up to their rooms, "I enjoyed the cooking, and Miri said I was getting quite good at it. And I didn't mind watching the smaller children; but the first time I had to change one was quite a distressing experience for all involved."

"I can imagine."

"Well, after a few months I went to see Gorion because we _still_ didn't know what I was going to do with myself, and he sat me down and asked me how I'd been doing. He seemed relieved when I said I was managing fine, and even enjoying some of it. He'd been thinking of sending me off to be a nanny somewhere, he said, so he needed to know I had _some _practical skills to offer." She paused, suddenly looking sadder. "But that wasn't even a year ago now; and he'd changed his mind, but he wouldn't tell me why. That's when he decided to send me to the Namers for lessons. They... did not approve of my interest in Tymora."

"He sent you to clerics of Oghma despite your faith?" Xan asked, opening the door to their common room. Nuila nodded.

"Oh yes," she said airily. "They were the only clerics there, and I think he wanted to see how strong my faith _was_, rather than seeking to convert me. I guess if I'd been fervent enough, he'd maybe have found someone to come tutor me in Candlekeep. But as it was..."

"You weren't particularly dedicated to it?"

She just smiled, then stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes dropping to the ground. She shuffled her feet.

"I, um, wondered if I could... um... ask something."

His eyebrow rose. "Of course."

She took a deep breath. "Well, since Yeslick has left us, and you have a room to yourself, I thought, maybe, I could come and share with you, not in _that_ way, I just mean to take the spare bed, and so Imoen and Branwen have a bit more room in our room, and... yes."

She peeked up at him apprehensively. His heart had lurched and his throat had gone dry. He didn't know what to say.

"I mean," she went on, "it's probably a stupid idea, and I don't want to make you feel awkward, and I am perfectly fine—"

"It would be... nice."

Her eyebrows rose, then a smile spread across her lips. She bounced slightly as she spoke: "Are you _sure?_ Oh! I will get my things!"

Then she disappeared into the room she shared with Pink-hair and the priestess, emerging soon enough with her pack and a handful of other assorted items. He held open the door to his own room before he even gave himself a chance to think about what he'd just done and she shyly moved past him, dropping her belongings onto the spare bed messily, before wandering over to the window. It seemed to be a nice day outside; the sun was shining, and he could see blue sky. He let the door fall closed and moved over to stand beside her.

Just as he got close, she turned to face him, her arms slipping around his waist. She had a gleam in her eye and a mischievous grin on her face. He returned her hug, watching as she put herself onto her tiptoes and reached her lips up to his.

"Oh, Seldarine..."

* * *

A short while later they made their way downstairs and out to see what was on offer from the makeshift stalls that the traders had erected. Xan hadn't been sure what to expect from Nuila's impish look, but the monk appeared to be content with a slow approach, busying him with idle caresses and small kisses for a delightful while, before taking his hand and announcing that they should carry out Jaheira's instructions.

And so he was still holding her hand as they emerged into the sunshine, walking along side by side almost like any other normal couple. He was wearing a plain traveller's robe, his hair falling freely to his shoulder without his usual Evereskan circlet holding it in place. And Nuila... Nuila was wearing a dress. A simple summer dress that she'd undoubtedly borrowed from Imoen, pink as it was. Her hair was starting to curl again after his barbaric attempts to cut the singed pieces off, but she was persisting with pins and clips to keep it away from her face. Her silver chain was ever-present around her neck, the low cut of the dress showing that it carried a small silver coin, Tymora's likeness etched on it, surrounded by the usual shamrocks.

She looked happy as they meandered along the path, nodding pleasantly to Branwen and Ajantis as they passed, the warriors carrying bags of supplies recently purchased. Xan gave a cautious look behind them as they continued, noting Branwen and Ajantis leaning in together, whispering conspiratorially. Nuila seemed completely uncaring.

"Here – that man is selling spell components," she said, pulling him along after her as she made her way to one of the nearer stalls. He followed obediently, partly bemused, partly _confused._ She was so natural, so easy with it all. He felt awkward and clumsy; he was more concerned about what the others would think, than she appeared to be, that was certain. And he was sure that, wherever she was, the druid would be watching.

The stall soon took his mind off things. Nuila graciously allowed him his hand back so he could rummage through the wares, inspecting the freshness of various herbs, and checking for defects in gems and imperfections in other minerals. She watched him with a quiet fascination and satisfaction, a small smile settled onto her lips that seemed reluctant to go away. Now and then he'd look over to her, and the smile would broaden; he would flush, and go back to his purchases. Was this really how it was meant to feel?

Eventually he was done, almost confident that he had enough provisions to see them safely to Baldur's Gate, at least. He haggled a good price with the merchant, and collected his bag of reagents. Nuila reclaimed his hand, and led him off to the next stall.

"You seem uneasy," she remarked, giving him a sidelong look. "Would you rather we walked separately?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No. I... I am just unused to this. I am happy if... if you are."

She smiled and nodded, wandering off to one side to inspect a weapons stall. She pointed to one of the cloth slings hanging up on a rack.

"Can you use one of them?" she asked.

He shrugged. "A little," he said. "I know the principle behind their use, and have practiced with one on occasion. Why?"

"I was wondering about you getting one, for if we're attacked," she said thoughtfully.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is my magic not enough?"

"More than enough, usually. But what if you have nothing left?"

He motioned to the scabbard hanging on his hip.

She shook her head. "I don't know if I want you so... close... to a fight," she said, almost to herself. She was looking at the sling again. "I think I'd feel better about knowing you were safe. _Safer_."

"I could say very much the same about you," he objected as she called the vendor over. "Are you to buy one for yourself? Or perhaps some darts, or a nice bow, like Imoen has?"

She snorted. "One sling please, and some bullets." The vendor nodded.

"Nuila—"

"You don't have to use it if you don't want to," she said, before turning to look at him with big, wide eyes. "But I'd _really_ rather you did."

"And I would really rather you did likewise."

"Hmm. Remind me to try and remember my archery lessons when we next share reverie."

Xan winced. "I... believe I have already bore witness to that."

Nuila grinned, handing over some coins and passing the sling and ammunition to the enchanter. "Then you'll understand why I'm much better _not_ having one. But you..." She reached up to touch his cheek softly. "I want you to stay safe."

He opened his mouth to reply, but caught sight of the figure looming behind Nuila before he could speak.

"Ah, there you are," said Jaheira, her green, _green_ eyes watching Nuila's gentle caress. "We were looking for you."

* * *

Xan retreated to the safety of his room. Nuila had been whisked away by Jaheira, the druid adamant that the monk pick up the correct equipment, whatever that was meant to be, and Khalid had offered to accompany the enchanter back to their quarters. They'd strolled back in silence, finding Ajantis and Branwen in the common room polishing weapons and discussing previous battles. Xan quickly excused himself.

He'd only just put his bag of reagents down when there was a quiet knock on the door. He groaned to himself, but called for whomever to come in. He wasn't surprised to see Khalid.

"I h-hope you don't m-mind me disturbing you," the half-elf said, jerking his head to the common room. "I d-didn't want to discuss things with others present."

"Not at all," said Xan, a sinking feeling telling him he knew exactly where this conversation was going. "Please, sit down."

Khalid smiled and wandered over to the chair beside the window, settling into it. He casually looked over to Yeslick's old bed and nodded.

"I see N-Nuila has m-moved in? We thought she might."

Xan sat on the edge of his bed stiffly. "She wished to have more room."

Khalid nodded. "The room was c-cramped with the three of them in it. And she rests b-better when she is near you."

Xan fidgeted. "I do not mean to be rude, but it sounds as if Nuila and I have been the subject to some... discussion."

The fighter looked dismayed. "Oh, n-no... well, yes, b-but not how you think." He sighed and leaned forward. "N-nuila is our ward, by the wishes of Gorion. We w-want the best for her, and to p-protect her."

"As do I."

The half-elf smiled again. "We know. You are very g-good to her, and she c-cares for you deeply. That much is obvious. I just wanted to t-tell you that while w-we still think she is very young, we respect her decisions, including any involving her h-heart. After all, no one knows a heart as w-well as its owner."

"I see." Xan pondered for a moment. "I must admit I am surprised; I thought that there would be some level of disapproval..."

"Should there be?" Khalid's question was simple, but Xan understood the hidden meaning behind it.

"No," he replied, quietly. "We have become... close. But there is nothing but innocent notions. Nuila is aware of my responsibility, just as I am aware of her own quest. I will be nothing but honest with her."

"As we expected," Khalid said softly. "B-but if I may say; be aware of her age. She has seen many less summers than you, and though she has s-some maturity on display, she is still y-young and fanciful at times."

"Am I to assume that she is currently receiving a similar talk from your wife?"

The half-elf laughed. "J-jaheira will be blunt, honest and t-to the point. But she w-will be fair. And above all, she will ensure Nuila is c-careful."

Xan's eyebrow rose. "Careful?"

Khalid nodded solemnly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "If Nuila hasn't b-been taught about the birds and the b-bees yet, then Jaheira will make sure she knows about both. And about the badgers, deer, squirrels, and any other a-animal she needs to explain to m-make Nuila understand."

Xan nodded slowly. "Poor Nuila," he said. "I really do not think she will be prepared for such a discussion..."

* * *

Khalid, it transpired, had met Jaheira a short time after her coming of age. She'd been brought up by druids, the daughter of a noble family who had perished in the Tethyrian war. She'd been saved as a child by a serving girl, who had smuggled her from the family home and taken her to the forest. She had been headstrong, stubborn and opinionated when he first arrived at the grove, member of a party who were seeking strong individuals to work for their organisation. Xan didn't have to guess that he was speaking of the Harpers.

Jaheira had joined with them immediately, believing strongly that she had to take action to have any effect on the world around her. He, at the time, was shy, withdrawn, and very meek. She had bullied him relentlessly for the first few weeks, until one day she went so far as to challenge him to a practice fight. He'd tried to decline, but she refused to take no for an answer. So one evening, at the camp, they'd fought with wooden weapons before the rest of the travelling party.

He beat her. Four times he bested her in combat before she accepted defeat. After that she'd began speaking to him, asking him for tips on her stance, advice on how to best use her weapons. An unlikely friendship had developed, and then one night, under the starts, she'd kissed him and they'd become inseparable. Xan listened as the half-elf spoke; he got the impression that this was a tale rarely told, and while he was genuinely interested in the story, he was uncomfortable with hearing the intimacy of the couple who guarded their privacy so fiercely. But Khalid stopped there, a small, contended smile on his face as he thought back to his happy memories.

"So y-you see, w-we do understand how a bond can be made," he said, turning serious. "But a life on the r-road is not easy, and maintaining that bond is d-difficult."

"I am well aware of this," Xan sighed. "And the futility of it all is not lost on me. But Nuila..."

Khalid nodded sympathetically. "For what it is worth, I b-believe in you both," he said, standing up. "I am sure that everything—"

He was interrupted by a scream, quickly followed by Ajantis' booming voice: "_BY HELM!" _ Khalid and Xan exchanged a look, and ran to the common room. The paladin was standing at the door to the room he shared with Coran, the door closed, the paladin flushed red in the face. Branwen was standing by the armchairs, her hands covering her mouth.

"Wh-what has happened?" Khalid asked, making his way over to Ajantis. The paladin held out his hand, signalling for the half-elf to go no closer. Khalid paused, giving Branwen a quizzical look.

"W-will anyone explain?"

The door behind the Waterdhavian opened, causing the paladin to stride away quickly. A head of red hair peeked out, an embarrassed smile covering a young girl's freckled face as she slipped out, her clothes dishevelled, her shoes missing, and her hair unkempt. She bobbed a clumsy curtsey, then fled from the room.

Khalid sighed.

"C-coran?"

The elf appeared a moment or two later, a pair of trousers the only clothing he'd seen fit to put back on. Branwen gasped, and averted her eyes much to his amusement.

"Come now, Branwen," he laughed. "A woman as feisty as you has surely seen a man's body before!"

"You _dare_ slander her good name?!" Ajantis was furious; Xan could see he was visibly shaking.

Coran just gave him a peculiar look. "I don't see how that is slandering her, oh pompous one. But you look like you could do with some relaxation yourself. I could arrange for Milly to meet you in the bath-house, perhaps?"

How dare—"

"Enough!"

"—you speak to—"

"ENOUGH!"

Silence fell, so unusual was it for Khalid to shout. The half-elf glared at Coran. "Get dressed, and then sort out y-your supplies," he said. "You have h-had your fun for today."

Coran just laughed and went back into the bedroom. Xan could hear him whistling merrily to himself.

"B-branwen," Khalid said, "take Ajantis out for a walk, would you? I think he n-needs some time and some fresh air to clear his head."

The priestess nodded, standing up and heading to the door. After a moment's hesitation, Ajantis bowed his head and strode off with her. Khalid watched them go, then ran his fingers through his hair and sat down heavily on the chairs. "Th-this is why I usually leave these things to Jaheira," he said. Then he smiled slyly. "I have picked up a thing or two from her, though."


End file.
